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COPYRIGHT DEPOSHi 



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penrp Wzli&'mMl) LoiifffeUoto 



COMPLETE POETICAL AND PROSE WORKS. River- 
side Edition, With Notes (many of them by Mr. Long- 
fellow), Literary, Historical, Biographical, and Biblio- 
graphical Information, Indexes, etc., and five Portraits. 
ii vols, crown 8vo, the set, $16.50. 
Vols. 1, 2: Prose Works. Vols. 3-8: Poetical Works. 

Vols. 9-1 1 : Translation of Dante. 

COMPLETE WORKS, with Life of Longfellow (3 
vols.). 14 vols, crown 8vo, $22.50. 

COMPLETE PROSE WORKS. Riverside Edition. With 
Notes, Index, and Portrait. 2 vols, crown 8vo, $3.00. 

COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS. Riverside Edition. 
With notes and three Portraits. 6 vols, crown 8vo, the 
set, $9 00. 

COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS. Cambridge Edition. 
With a Biographical Sketch, Notes, an Index to Titles 
and First Lines, a Portrait, and an Engraving of Long- 
fellow's Home in Cambridge. Large crown 8vo, $2.00. 

Handy- Volume Edition. Printed from beautiful large type, 
on opaque paper, bound in a simple but very attractive 
style. With five Portraits. 5 vols. i6mo, in cloth box, 
$6.25. 

Illustrated Octavo Edition. With Portrait, and over 300 
Illustrations. 8vo, full gilt, $3 50. 

Library Edition. With Portrait, 8 Photogravures, and 
270 Illustrations. 8vo, $2.50. 

Household Edition. With Portrait, Illustrations, Notes, 
etc. Crown 8vo, $1.50. 

Cabinet Edition. i6mo, $1.00. 
For the numerous single volumes of Mr. Lo7ig fellow's 

•works, see Catalogue. 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY, 
Boston, New York, and Chicago. 



I 




U*~w*.^Af 



J cu-^-aoSc ^X^jJ^aj 



THE COMPLETE 
POETICAL WORKS OF 
s RY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 

i3ouseholD €dttion 



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HOUGHTON ANY 

* SlitirrsiDe press, -CambnDge 



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LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

APR 9 1906 

CopyrigM Entry 

CLASS <x. XXC No, 

OOPY A. 



COPYRIGHT, 1863, 1865, 1866, 1867, 1868, 1869, T871, 1872, 1873, 1874, 1875, l8 7 6 . 

1878, 1879, 1880, BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. COPYRIGHT, 1882, 

1883, 1886, 189I, 1894, 1896, 1899, I90O, I9OI, 1902, 1903, AND 1906, 

BY ERNEST W. LONGFELLOW. COPYRIGHT 1882, 1883, 1886, 

1893, AND 1902, BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 



PUBLISHERS' NOTE 

The present Household Edition of Mr. Longfellow's Poetical Writings is 
printed from entirely new plates, and contains all his original verse that he 
wished to preserve, and all his translations except the Divina Commedia. 
The poems are printed as nearly as possible in chronological order, the lines 
are numbered, and many new notes have been added at the end of the volume. 

Great care has been taken in selecting the illustrations, which represent the 
work of about seventy leading American and English artists, including Abbey, 
Boughton, Church, Darley, Dielman, Harry Fenn, Birket Foster, Frost, W. H. 
Gibson, John Gilbert, Ernest W. Longfellow, Will H. Low, F. D. Millet, 
T. Moran, Reinhart, Remington, W. L. Sheppard, and Tenniel. The frontis- 
piece portrait of the poet is from a photograph recently discovered and never 
before reproduced. 

Boston, Autumn, 1902. 




The Longfellow House, Cambridge 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 



Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born in Portland, Maine, Febru y 
27, 1807. He was a classmate of Hawthorne at Bowdoin College, graduat g 
there in the class of 1825. He began the study of law in the office of his father, 
Hon. Stephen Longfellow ; but receiving shortly the appointment of professor 
of modern languages at Bowdoin, he devoted himself after that to literature, 
and to teaching in connection with literature. Before beginning his work at 
Bowdoin he increased his qualifications by travel and study in Europe, where 
he stayed three years. Upon his return he gave his lectures on modern lan- 
guages and literature at the college, and wrote occasionally for the North 
American Review and other periodicals. The first volume which he published 
was an Essay on the Moral and Devotional Poetry of Spain, accompanied by 
translations from Spanish verse. This was issued in 1833, but has not been 
kept in print as a separate work. It appears as a chapter in Outre-Mer, a re- 
flection of his European life and travel, the first of his prose writings. In 
1835 he was invited to succeed Mr. George Ticknor as professor of modern lan- 
guages and literature at Harvard College, and again went to Europe for pre- 



vi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

paratory study, giving especial attention to Switzerland and the Scandinavian/ 
countries. He held his professorship until 1854, and continued to live in Cam- 
bridge until his death, March 24, 1882, occupying a house known from a former 
occupant as the Craigie house, and also as Washington's headquarters, that 
general having so used it while organizing the army that held Boston in siege 
at the beginning of the Revolution. Everett, Sparks, and Worcester the 
lexicographer, at one time or another lived in this house, and here Longfellow 
wrote most of his works. 

In 1839 appeared Hyperion, a Bomance, which, with more narrative form than 
Outre-Mer, like that gave the results of a poet's entrance into the riches of the 
Old World life. In the same year was published Voices of the Night, a little 
volume containing chiefly poems and translations which had been printed 
separately in periodicals. The Psalm of Life, perhaps the best known of Longr 
fellow's short poems, was in this volume, and here, too, were The Beleaguered 
City and Footsteps of Angels. Ballads and other Poems and Poems on Slavery 
appeared in 1842; The Spanish Student, a play in three acts, in 1843; The 
Belfry of Bruges and Other Poems in 1846; Evangeline in 1847; Kavanagh, a 
Tale, in prose, in 1849. Besides the various volumes comprising short poems, 
the list of Mr. Longfellow's works includes The Golden Legend, Tlie Song of 
Hiawatha, The Courtship of Miles Standish, Tales of a Wayside Inn, The New 
England Tragedies, and a translation of Dante's Divina Gommedia. Mr. Long- 
fellow's literary life began in his college days, and he wrote poems almost to 
the day of his death. A classification of his poems and longer works would be 
an interesting task, and would help to disclose the wide range of his sympathy 
and taste ; a collection of the metres which he used would show the versatility 
of his art, and similar studies would lead one to discover the many countries 
and ages to which he went for subjects. It would not be difficult to gather 
i the volume of Longfellow's poems hints of personal experience, that bio- 
>hy of the heart which is of more worth to us than any record, however 
of external change and adventure. Such hints may be found, for exam- 
in the early lines To the River Charles, which may be compared with the 
:h later Three Friends of Mine, iv., v. ; in i Gleam of Sunshine, To a 
Id, The Day is Done, The Fire of Driftwood, Resignation, The Open Window, 
The Ladder of St. Augustine, My Lost Youth, The Children's Hour, Weariness, 
and other poems ; not that we are to take all sentiments and statements made 
in the first person as the poet's, for often the form of the poem is so far dra- 
matic that the poet is assuming a character not necessarily his own ; but the 
recurrence of certain strains, joined with personal allusions, helps one to pene- 
trate the slight veil with which the poet, here as elsewhere, half conceals and 
half reveals himself. The friendly associations of the poet may also be dis- 
covered in several poems directly addressed to persons or distinctively alluding 
to them, and the reader will find it pleasant to construct the companionship of 
the poet out of such poems as The Herons of Elmwood, To William E. Channing, 
The Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz, To Charles Summer, the Prelude to Tales of a 
Wayside Inn, and Hawthorne. The standard Life of Longfellow is the one 
written by his brother, Rev. Samuel Longfellow, in three volumes, and there 
is also an excellent single volume Life, by T. W. Higginson, in American 
Men of Letters. 



CONTENTS 






VI. The Wraith of Omn 276 
VII. Iron-Beard . . 278 
VIII. Gudrun . . .280 
IX. Thangbrand the 

Priest . . . 280 
X. Raud the Strong . 282 
XL Bishop Sigurd of 

Salten Fiord . . 282 
XII. King Olaf's Christ- 
mas . . • .283 

XIII. The Building of the 

Long Serpent . 284 

XIV. The Crew of the 

Long Serpent . . 286 
XV. A Little Bird in the 

Air . . . .287 
XVI. Queen Thyri and the 

Angelica Stalks . 287 
XVII. King Svend of the 

Forked Beard . 288 
XVIII. King Olaf and Earl 

SlGVALD . . .290 

XIX. King Olaf's War- 
Horns . . .290 
XX. Einar Tamberskel- 

ver . . • .291 
XXL King Olaf's Death- 
Drink . . .292 
XXII. The Nun of Nidaros 292 

Interlude 294 

The Theologian's Tale: 

torquemada . . . 295 
Interlude .... 300 

The Poet's Tale: The 

Birds of Killingworth 300 

Finale 306 

Part Second 

Prelude 306 

The Sicilian's Tale: The 

Bell of Atri . . 308 

Interlude 310 

The Spanish Jew's Tale: 

Kambalu . . . . 311 
Interlude .... 312 

The Student's Tale: The 

Cobbler of Hagenau 313 

Interlude 316 

The Musician's Tale : The 

Ballad of Carmxlhan . 317 
Interlude .... 320 

The Poet's Tale : Lady 

Wentworth . . . 322 

Interlude 325 

The Theologian's Tale: 

The Legend Beautiful 326 

Interlude 328 

The Student's Second Tale : 

The Baron of St. Cas- 

tlne ..... 328 

Finale 333 

Part Third 

Prelude 334 

The Spanish Jew's Tale: 

Azrael .... 335 



Interlude 

The Poet's Tale : Charle- 
magne .... 

Interlude 

The Student's Tale : Emma 
and Eginhard 

Interlude 

The Theologian's Tale : 
Elizabeth 

Interlude 

The Sicilian's Tale : The 

Monk of Casal-Mag- 

giore .... 

Interlude .... 357 

The Spanish Jew's Second 

Tale : Scanderbeg 

Interlude 

The Musician's Tale : The 
Mother's Ghost 

Interlude 362 

The Landlord's Tale : The 
Rhyme of Sir Christo- 
pher 363 

Finale 3flP 

FLOWER-DE-LUCE. 
Flower-de-Luce . 
Palingenesis .... 
The Bridge of Cloud . 
Hawthorne 

Christmas Bells . . . .571 
The Wind over the Chim- 
ney 372 

The Bells of Lynn 

Killed at the Ford 

Giotto's Tower . . . 374 

To-Morrow . 

DlVINA COMMEDIA . 

Noel 

BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 
Flight the Third. 
Fata Morgana 
The Haunted Chamber . 
The Meeting .... 
Vox Populi . . . .379 

The Castle-Builder . . 380 
Changed .... 
The Challenge . . . 3S0 
The Brook and the Wave 
Aftermath .... 381 
THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. 

I. The Workshop of He- 
phaestus . 
II. Olympus . 

III. Tower of Prometheus 

on Mount Cauca- 
sus . 

IV. The Air . 

V- The House of Epime- 

theus • 
VI. In the Garden . 
VII. The House of Epime- 

theus 
VIII. In the Garden . 3W 



CONTENTS 




HANGING OF THE 
ORANE .... 397 

ITURI SALUTAMUS . . 400 
A BOOK OF SONNETS. 

'hree Friends of Mine . 406 

Chaucer 407 

Shakespeare .... 408 

Tiltg* 408 

Keats' 409 

"Ohe Galaxy .... 409 

'he Sound of the Sea . 409 

L Summer Day by the Sea . 409 

The Tides . . . .410 

A Shadow . . . . .410 

L Nameless Grave • . 410 
leep . . . . . . . 411 

The Old Bridge at Flor- 
ence 411 

J II Ponte Vecchio di Firenze 411 

Nature 412 

In the Churchyard at Tar- 

rytown 412 

Eliot's Oak .... 412 

The Descent of the Muses . 412 

; Venice . . . . . 413 

The Poets 413 

Parker Cleaveland . . 413 
The Harvest Moon . . . 414 
To the River Rhone . . . 414 
The Three Silences of Mo- 
linos 414 

The Two Rivers . . . 414 
Boston ..... 415 
St. John's, Cambridge . . 416 

Moods 417 

'oodstock Park . . . 417 
The Four Princesses at Wil- 

NA 417 

Holidays 417 

wapentake .... 418 
The Broken Oar . . . 418 
The Cross of Snow . . .418 

BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 
Flight the Fourth. 
Charles Sumner . . . 419 
Travels by the Fireside . 420 
c a.denabbia .... 420 
Monte Cassino .... 421 

• Amalfi 423 

T:ie Sermon of St. Francis . 424 
Belisarius .... 425 
Songo River .... 426 

KERAMOS 427 

BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 
Flight the Fifth. 
The Herons of Elmwood . 434 
A Dutch Picture . . 435 

Castles in Spain . . . 436 
Vi ttoria Colonna . . . 437 
The Revenge of Rain-in- 
the-Face . . . .438 
the River Yvette . . 439 



The Emperor's Glove 

A Ballad of the French 

Fleet 

The Leap of Roushan Beg . 

Haroun al Raschid 

King Trisanku .... 

A Wraith in the Mist 

The Three Kings 

Song: "Stay, stay at home, 

my heart, and rest " 
The White Czar . 
Delia 

ULTIMA THULE. 

Dedication 

Poems. 

Bayard Taylor 

The Chamber over the Gate 

From my Arm-Chair 

jugurtha . • 

The Iron Pen .... 

Robert Burns 

Helen of Tyre . 

Elegiac 

Old St. David's at Radnor . 
Folk-Songs. 

The Sifting of Peter . 

Maiden and Weathercock 

The Windmill .... 

The Tide rises, the Tide 

falls 

Sonnets. 

My Cathedral .... 

The Burial of the Poet . 

Night 

L' Envoi. 

The Poet and his Songs 

IN THE HARBOR. 

Becalmed 

The Poet's Calendar . 
Autumn within .... 
The Four Lakes of Madison 
Victor and Vanquished . 
Moonlight .... 
The Children's Crusade 

Sundown 

Chimes 

Four by the Clock 

AUF WlEDERSEHEN . 

Elegiac Verse 

The City and the Sea . 

Memories 

Hermes Trismegistus 

To the Avon .... 

President Garfield 

My Books .... 

Mad R ver 

Possibii ities .... 
I Decoraiion Day 
\ A Fragment .... 
m Loss and Gain .... 

Inscription on the Shanklin 
Fountain .... 

The Bells of San Blas 



440 
442 

442 
442 
442 

443 
444 
444 

445 

445 
446 
446 
448 
448 
448 
450 
450 
450 

451 
451 
452 

452 

453 
453 
453 

454 



455 

455 

458 

458 

458 

458 

459 

461 

462 

462 J 

462 / 

463 

464 

464 

465 

466 

466 

466 

466 

468 

468 

468 

468 

469 



CONTENTS 



x 



FRAGMENTS. 




PART 


II. THE GOLDEN LE- 


"Neglected record of a 




GEND. 


MIND NEGLECTED " 
" FAITHFUL, INDEFATIGABLE 
TIDES " 

"Soft through the silent 
air" 

" So FROM THE BOSOM OF 
DARKNESS " • 


470 


Prologue. 


470 
470 
470 


The Spire of Strasburg 
Cathedral . . . 535 
I. The Castle of Vauts- 




berg on the Rhine . 536 
Court- yard of the Cas- 










tle .... 540 


CHRISTUS : A MYSTERY. 




II. 


A Farm in the Oden- 


Introitus . 


471 




wald . . . .544 










A Room in the Farm- 


PART I. 


THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 




house . . . .547 


The First Passover. 






Elsie's Chamber . . 550 


I. 


Vox Clamantis 


473 




The Chamber of Got- 


II. 


Mount Quarantania . 


474 




tlieb and Ursula . 550 


III. 


The Marriage in Cana 476 




A Village Church . 553 


IV. 


In the Cornfields . 


479 




A Room in the Farm- 


V. 


Nazareth . 


480 




house .... 557 


VI. 


The Sea of Galilee . 


482 




In the Garden . . 558 


VII. 


The Demoniac of Ga- 




III. 


A Street in Stras- 




dara .... 


484 




burg .... 559 


VIII. 


Talitha Cumi . 


486 


- 


Square in Front of the 


IX. 


The Tower of Mag- 






Cathedral. . . 562 




dala .... 


487 




In the Cathedral . . 564 


X. 


The House of Simon 






The Nativity: A Mira- 




the Pharisee 


489 




cle-Play 


The Second Passover. 






Introitus . . . 565 


I. 


Before the Gates of 






I. Heaven . . . 565, 




Mach^erus . 


490 




II. Mary at the 


II. 


Herod's Banquet- 






Well . . 566 




Hall . 


491 




III. The Angels of 


III. 


Under the Walls of 






the Seven Plan- 




Mach^rus . 


494 




ets . . .. 566 


IV. 


Nicodemus at Night 


495 




IV. The Wise Men of 


V. 


Blind Bartimeus 


497 




the East . 567 


VI. 


Jacob's Well . 


499 




V. The Flight into 


VII. 


The Coasts of C^esa- 






Egypt . . 568 




rea Philippi . 


502 




VI. The Slaughter of 


VIII. 


The Young Ruler 


504 




the Innocents 569 


IX. 


At Bethany 


506 




VII. Jesus at Play with 


X. 


Born Blind . 


507 




his School- 


XI. 


Simon Magus and Hel- 






mates . . 570 




en of Tyre 


508 




VIII. The Village 


The Third Passover. 






School . . 570 


I. 


The Entry into Jeru- 






IX. Crowned with 




salem 


512 




Flowers . . 571 


II. 


Solomon's Porch . 


513 




Epilogue . . . 572 


III. 


Lord, is it I? . 


516 


IV. 


The Road to Hirschau 572 


IV. 


The Garden of Geth- 






The Convent of Hirs- 




SEMANE . 


51^ 




chau in the Black 


V. 


The Palace of Caia- 






Forest . . .573 




phas .... 


519 




The Scriptorium . . 575 


VI. 


Pontius Pilate . 


522 




The Cloisters . . 576 


VII. 


Barabbas in Prison 


523 




The Chapel . . . 578 


VIII. 


Ecce Homo . 


524 




The Refectory . . 579 


IX. 


Aceldama . 


526 




The Neighboring Nun- 


X. 


The Three Crosses . 


527 




nery . . . 584 


XI. 


The Two Maries 


528 


V 


A Covered Bridge at 


XII. 


The Sea of Galilee . 


530 




Lucerne . . 587 


Epilogue. 






The Devil's Bridge . 590 


Symbolum Apostolorum . 


533 




The St. Gothard Pass 590 


First Interlude- 






At the Foot of the 


The Abbot Joachim 


533 




Alps . . .592 



CONTENTS 




The Inn at Genoa . 595 
At Sea .... 596 
VI. The School of Salekno 597 
The Farm-house in the 

Odenwald . . . 603 
The Castle of Vauts- 
berg on the rhine . 606 
Epilogue. 
The Two Recording Angels 
ascending .... 607 
Second Interlude. 
Martin Luther . . . 608 

PART III. THE NEW ENG- 
LAND TRAGEDIES. 

John Endicott. 
Prologue . . . . .611 

Act 1 612 

Act II 618 

Act III 627 

Act IV 637 

Act V 646 

Giles Corey of the Salem 
Farms. 
Prologue . . . . . . 652 

Act 1 653 

Act II 660 

Act III 668 

Act IV 676 

Act V. 682 

Finale 
St. John 688 

JUDAS MACCABEUS. 

Act I. The Citadel of An- 
tiochus at Jeru- 
salem . . 689 
Act II. The Dungeons in 

the Citadel . 694 
Act III. The Battle-Field 

of Beth-Horon 698 
Act IV. The Outer Courts 
of the Temple 
at Jerusalem . 702 
Act V. The Mountains of 

Ecbatana . . 705 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Dedication .... 708 
Part First. 

I. Prologue at Is- 

chia . . .709 

Monologue : The 

Last Judgment . 712 

II. San Silvestro . 714 

HI. Cardinal Ippolito 716 

IV. BORGO DELLE VeR- 

gine at Na- 
ples . . .722 

V. VlTTORIA COLONNA 726 

Part Second. 

I. Monologue . . 733 
PI. Viterbo . . 734 



III. Michael Angelo 

and Benvenu- 

to Cellini . . 735 r- 

IV. Fra Sebastiano del 

Piombo . . . 740 
V. Palazzo Belvedere 746 
VI. Palazzo Cesarini 751 
Part Third. 

I. Monologue . . 753 
II. Vigna di Papa 

Giulio . . .754 

III. Bindo Altoviti . 758 

IV. In the Coliseum . 760 
V. Macello de' Corvi 763 

VI. Michael Angblo's 

Studio . . . 769 
VII. The Oaks of Mon- ^ 

te Luca . . 770 
VIII. The Dead Christ 773 

TRANSLATIONS. 

Prelude 775 

From the Spanish. 

Coplas de Manrique . 775 

Sonnets. 

I. The Good Shep- 
herd . . .782 
II. To-Morrow. . 782 

III. The Native Land 783 

IV. The Image of God 783 
V. The Brook . . 783 

Ancient Spanish Ballads. 
I. Rio Verde, Rio 

Verde . . 784 
II. Don Nuno, Count 

of Lara . . 784 
iii. the peasant leaves 

his plough afield 785 
Vida de San Millan . 785 
San Miguel, the Convent 786 
Song : She is a maid of 

artless grace . . . 787 
Santa Teresa's Book- 

Mark 787 

From the Cancioneros. 
I. Eyes so tristful, 

EYES SO TRISTFUL 787 

II. Some day, some day 787 

III. Come, O Death, so 

SILENT FLYING. 787 

IV. Glove of black in 

white hand bare 788 
From the Swedish and Danish. 
Passages from Frithiof's 
Saga. 
I. Frithtof's Home- 
stead . . . 788 
II. A Sledge-ride on 

the Ice . . 789 

III. Frithiof's Tempta- 

tion . . .789 

IV. Frithiof's Fare- 

well . . .790 



CONTENTS 



xm 



The Children of the 




Consolation 


Lord's Supper. 


791 


To Cardinal Richelieu . 


King Christian 


801 


The Angel akd the Child 


The Elected Knight 


802 


On the terrace of the 


Childhood. 


803 


AlGALADES . . 


From the German. 




To My Brooklet 


The Happiest Land 


804 


Barreges .... 


The Wave .... 


804 


Will ever the dear days 


The Dead .... 


804 


come back again? 


The Bird and the Shd? . 


804 


At La Chaudeau 


Whither ? ... 


805 


A Quiet Life . 


Beware ! 


806 


The Wine of Jurancon . 


Song of the Bell . 


806 


Friar Lubin . . ' . 


The Castle by the Sea . 


806 


Rondel 


The Black Knight 


807 


My Secret. 


Song of the Silent Land 808 


From the Italian. 


The Luck of Edenhall 


809 


The Celestial Pilot 


The Two Locks of Hair. 


809 


The Terrestrial Para- 


The Hemlock Tree 


810 


dise 


Annie of Tharaw 


811 


Beatrice . 


The Statue over the 




To Italy .... 


Cathedral Door . 


811 


Seven Sonnets and a 


The Legend of the Cross- 




Canzone. 


bill 


812 


I. The Artist 


The Sea hath its Pearls 812 


II. Fire 


Poetic Aphorisms 


812 


III. Youth and Age . 


Silent Love 


813 


IV. Old Age 


Blessed are the Dead . 


813 


V. To Vittoria Colon- 


Wanderer's Night-Songs 


813 


NA 


Remorse .... 


813 


VI. To Vittoria Colon- 


Forsaken .... 


814 


NA . . • 


Allah 


814 


VII. Dante 


From the Anglo-Saxon. 




VIII. Canzone 


The Grave .... 


814 


The Nature of Love 


Beowulf's Expedition to 




From the Portuguese. 


Heort .... 


815 


Song: If thou art sleep- 


The Soul's Complaint 




ing, MADDEN . 


against the Body . 


816 


From Eastern Sources. 


From the Fre>'ch. 




The Fugitive . 


Song : Hark ! hark ! . 


816 


The Slege of Kazan 


Song : And whither goest 




The Boy and the Bbook 


THOU, GENTLE SIGH . 


817 


To the Stork 


The Return of Spring • 


817 


From the Latin. 


Spring . 


817 


Virgil's First Eclogue . 


The Child Asleep. 


818 


Ovid in Exile . 


Death of Archbishop 
Turpin . 


818 


NOTES ... . 


The Blind Girl of Cas- 




INDEX OF FIRST LINES 


TEL GUTLLE . 


819 




A Christmas Carol . 


826 


INDEX OF TITLES 



827 
827 
828 



829 
830 

831 
831 
831 
832 
832 
833 
833 

833 

834 
835 
836 



836 
837 
837 
838 

838 

839 
839 
840 
840 



840 

840 
842 
842 

844 
847 

. 851 

871 

87G 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW (Photogravure) 
From a photograph 

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

Longfellow's Residence in Cambridge 

VOICES OF THE NIGHT 
Prelude 

"But the dark foliage interweaves 
In one unbroken roof of leaves " 

The Light of Stars 

"The night is come, but not too soon " 
The Beleaguered City 

"Beside the Moldau's rushing stream 
With the wan moon overhead " 

EARLIER POEMS 

Burial of the Minnisink 

"Came winding down beside the wave, 
To lay the red. chief in his grave " 

Woods in Winter 

"O'er the bare upland and away " 

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS 
The Skeleton in Armor 

"I wooed the blue-eyed maid, 
Yielding, yet half afraid " 

The Village Blacksmith 

" And children coming home from school 
Look in at the open door " 

To the River Charles 

"River! that in silence windest 
Through the meadows, bright and free " 

EXCELSTOR 

"In happy homes he saw the light 
Of household fires gleam warm and bright " 

POEMS ON SLAVERY 
The Quadroon Girl 

" The Slaver in the broad lagoon 
La} T moored with idle sail " 

THE SPANISH STUDENT 

The Count of Lara and Don Carlos 
"Must read, or sit in re very " 

Preciosa, the Cardinal and the Archbishop 
"Hola! amigos. Faith, I did not see you " 
" Are not the horses ready yet ? " 

Death of Bartolome' 



) 


Frontispiece 


ARTIST 

Frank Myrick 


PAGE 

v 


J. D. Smillie 


1 


Birket Foster 


5 


F. B. Schell 


7 



Birket Foster 



Birket Foster 



Edwin A. Abbey 



F. 0. C. Darley 



G. F. Barnes 



Thomas Moran 



11 



16 



19 



21 



24 



Granville Perkins 


25 


A. Fredericks 


29 


A. Fredericks 


39 


A. Fredericks 


43 


A. Fredericks 


45 


R. Swain Gifford 


59 


A. Fredericks 


65 



XVI 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES AND OTHER POEMS 
The Belfry of Bruges 

" Stands the belfry old and brown " 
Nuremberg 

" In the church of sainted Lawrence stands a pyx 
of sculpture rare " 

The Occultation of Orion 
" Forevermore, forevermore, 
The reign of violence is o'er! " 

Drinking Song 

" Then with water fill the pitcher 
Wreathed about with classic fables " 

EVANGELINE 

"Long at her father's door Evangeline stood " 

"The children 
Paused in their play to kiss the hand he ex- 



tended" 

" The little village of Grand-Pre 
Lay in the fruitful valley " 

" Blessing the bride and the bridegroom, 
Lifted aloft the tankard" 

"From the farms and neighboring hamlets 
Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian 
peasants" 

"Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his 
shoulder ' ' 

" Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew 
by the margin, 
Safely their boat was moored " 

" Be of good cheer, my child; it is only to-day he 
departed" 

" They found only embers and ashes " 

"Found she the hunter's lodge deserted and fallen 
to ruin ! ' ' 

"Vainly he strove to whisper her name " 

THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE 
The Building of the Ship 

" He saw the form of his promised bride 
" They fell, — those lordly pines! " 
Pegasus in Pound 

" Came in haste to see this wondrous 
Winged steed, with mane of gold " 

THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 

" And he saw a youth approaching 
Dressed in garments green and yellow " Frederic Remington 

" Waving like a hand that beckons " Thomas Moran 

" Glared like Ishkoodah, the comet, 
Like the star with fiery tresses " Frederic Remington 

" Long sat waiting for an answer " Frederic Remington 

" I will follow you, my husband ! " Frederic Remington 



W. H. Gibson 

F. B. Schell 
C. S. Reinhart 

G. F. Barnes 
Edwin A. Abbey 

Violet Oakley 
J. Moran 
Edwin A. Abbey 

Edwin A. Abbey 
Edwin A. Abbey 

Granville Perkins 

C. S. Reinhart 
F. 0. C. Darley 

Granville Perkins 
C, S. Reinhart 

Eastman Johnson 
C. E. H. Bonwill 

F. S. Church 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



xvn 



"Can it be the sun descending 
O'er the level plain of water ? " 

"Such as these the shapes they painted 
On the birch-bark and the deer-skin " 

"Like an antelope he bounded" 

" Sideways fell into the river, 
Plunged beneath the sluggish water " 

" 'Ah, my son! ' exclaimed the old man, 
" Happy are my eyes to see you ' " 

" Came the Black-Robe chief, . . . the Pale-face, 
With his guides and his companions " 

THE' COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

"Priscilla, the loveliest maiden of Plymouth " 

"Why does he not come himself, and take the 
trouble to woo me?" 

"Sweet is the smell of powder; and thus I an- 
swer the challenge! " 

" The echoes 
Heard and repeated the sound, the signal-gun of 
departure!" 

" Held it aloft and displayed a woman's face on 
the handle" 

"Onward the bridal procession now moved to 
their new habitation " 

BIRDS OF PASSAGE : FLIGHT THE FIRST 
The Golden Mile-Stone 

" Each man's chimney is his Golden Mile-Stone " 
In the Churchyard at Cambridge 

"In the village churchyard she lies " 
My Lost Youth 

"The Longfellow House," Portland, Maine 
The Ropewalk 

" Drawing water from a well " 

Daybreak 

"Sail on, 
Ye mariners, the night is gone " 

FLIGHT THE SECOND 
The Children's Hour 

" They are plotting and planning together " 

TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 
The Wayside Inn 

After a photograph. Loaned by E. R. Lemon 
Prelude 

" There sat a group of friends, entranced 
With the delicious melodies " 

Paul Revere- s Ride 

"A second lamp in the belfry burns! " 

" And yet, through the gloom and the light, » 

The fate of a nation was riding that night " 



Thomas Moran 


171 


Frederic Remington 


179 


Frederic Remington 


185 


Frederic Remington 


190 


Frederic Remington 


195 


Frederic Remington 


199 


George H. Boughton 


201 


George H. Boughton 


208 


C. S. Reinhart 


213 


Granville Perkins 


215 


George H. Boughton 


220 


Frank T. Merrill 


225 


W. L. Taylor 


227 


R. Swain Gifford 


233 


F. B. Schell 


238 


Mary Hallock Foote 


241 


Granville Perkins 


245 


Frank T. Merrill 


i 
247 


Philip D. Mason 


251 


C. S. Reinhart 


253 


John Gilbert 


256 


J. W. Ehninger 


258 



XV111 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



The Falcon of Ser Federigo 

"No longer victor, but the victim thou! " 

Interlude 

" This brings back to my memory 
A story in the Talmud told " 

King Robert of Sicily 

" Within Palermo's wall " 
The Saga of King Olaf 

" Here amid icebergs 
Rule I the nations" 

" On the threshold shivering stood 
A one-eyed guest, with cloak and hood" 

" Sending his signal through the land of Dron- 
theim" 

"Swaggering Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest " 

"Never ship was built in Norway 
Half so fine as she. ! " 

"For thine own honor's sake 
Shalt thou swift vengeance take " 

" Knelt Astrid the Abbess 
At midnight adoring " 

TORQUEMADA 

" Then to the Grand Inquisitor once more 
The Hidalgo went more eager than before " 

" Slowly the long procession crossed the square " 
The Birds of Killingworth 

"Thus came the jocund Spring in Killingworth 
In fabulous days, some hundred years ago " 

" Alike regardless of their smile or frown, 
And quite determined not to be laughed down " 

Prelude 

"Leafless branches, and the air 
Filled with the arrows of the rain " 

The Bell of Atri 

" Who loved his falcons with their crimson hoods " 
Kambalu 

" As in at the gate we rode, behold, 
A tower that is called the Tower of Gold " 

The Cobbler of Hagenau 

" He came, confiding in his cause, 
But rather, doubtful of the laws " 

The Ballad of Carmilhan 

" Ready for sea, at anchor lay 
The good ship Valdemar " 

" As she dashed and crashed, a hopeless wreck, 
Upon the Chimneys Three " 

Lady Wentworth 

" No matter how I look; I yet shall ride 
In my own chariot, ma'am " 

" A goodty place, where it was good to be " 



John Tenniel 


263 


John Gilbert 


265 


F. B. Schell 


270 


A. B. Frost 


272 


F. Dielman 


277 


t 
John Gilbert 


279 


A.R. Waud 


281 


Thomas Moran 


285 


Augustus Hoppin 


289 


John Gilbert 


293 


C. S. Reinhart 


298 


C. S. Reinhart 


299 


E. H. Garrett 


301 


F. 0. C. Barley 


303 


F. B. Schell 


307 


F. S. Church 


309 


A. Fredericks 


313 


F. 0. C. Barley 


316 


A.R. Waud 


317 


A. R. Waud 


321 


W. L. Sheppard 


323 


F. B. Schell 


324 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xix 

The Legend Beautiful 

" To the convent portals came 
All the blind and halt and lame " 

The Baron op St. Castine 

• ' His father, lonely, old and gray, 
Sits by the fireside day by day"" 

" Speeding along the woodland way " 

AZRAEL 

"What is yon shape, that pallid as the dead, 
Is watching me?" 

Charlemagne 

*' And Charlemagne appeared; — a Man of Iron " A. Fredericks 

Emma and Eginhard 

"Come to ask, 
As was his wont, the day's appointed task " 

Elizabeth 

"A peaceful and bountiful river " 

"Then Elizabeth told her story again to John 
Estaugh " 

The Monk of Casal-Maggiore 

" Two Franciscan friars 
Wended their weary way, with footsteps slow" 

"For all believed the story, and began 
To see a saint in this afflicted man " 

" And wove green garlands wherewithal to deck 
His sacred person" 

The Mother's Ghost 

" One she braided, another she brushed, 
The third she lifted, the fourth she hushed" 

The Rhyme of Sir Christopher 

"Gathering in the bright sunshine 
The sweet alyssum and columbine " 

" Through forest and field, and hunted him down " A. B. Frost 365 

FLOWER-DE-LUCE 

The Bells of Lynn 

"Over the shining sands the wandering cattle 
homeward 
Follow each other at your call, Bells of Lynn " Ernest W. Longfellow 368 

Hawthorne 

"Across the meadows, by the gray old manse " Marian Peabody 371 

The Bells of Lynn 

" The distant lighthouse hears, and with his flam- 
ing signal 
Answers you " E. H. Garrett 373 

Divina Commedia 

" Kneel to repeat his paternoster o'er " C. S. Reinhart 375 

BIRDS OF PASSAGE : FLIGHT THE THIRD 
The Castle-Builder 

"A castle-builder, with his wooden blocks " Frank T. Merrill 378 

The Brook and the Wave 

" The brooklet came from the mountain " Ernest W. Longfellow 381 



A. B. Frost 


327 


W. L. Sheppard 


329 


F. B. Schell 


331 




335 


A. Fredericks 


338 


F. Dielman 


342 


F. B. Schell 


345 


T. W. Wood 


348 


W. L. Sheppard 


351 


W. L. Sheppard 


353 


W. L. Sheppard 


357 


Jessie Curtis 


361 


A. B. Frost 


364 



XX 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 

Thalia 

The Tower of Prometheus 

"Nor thou as Pan be rude and mannerless" 

"Only Hope remains behind " 

"Never shall souls like these 
Escape the Eumenides " 

THE HANGING OF THE CRANE 

"They want no guests; they needs must be 
Each other's own best company " 

MORITURI SALUTAMUS 

" ye familiar scenes — ye groves of pine " 
Bowdoin College, Brunswick, Maine 
A BOOK OF SONNETS 

Three Friends of Mine 

"River, that stealest with such silent pace 
Around the City of the Dead " 

Shakespeare — Chandos portrait 
The Old Bridge at Florence 

Ponte Vecchio 
Boston 

St. Botolph's Church, Boston, England 
After a photograph 

BIRDS OF PASSAGE: FLIGHT THE FOURTH 
Travels by the Fireside 
Longfellow in his study 
From a photograph 

Cadenabbia 

"By Somariva's garden gate 
I make the marble stairs my seat" 

Amalfi 

"Lord of vineyards and of lands, 
Far above the convent stands" 

Belisarius 

"I still 
Am Belisarius " 

KERAMOS 

"Turn, turn, my wheel! Turn round and round : 

" What land is this ? Yon prettv town 
Is Delft " 

"Cana, the Beautiful" 
"The snow on Fusiyama's cone " 
BIRDS OF PASSAGE: FLIGHT THE FIFTH 
The Herons of Elmwood 
Elmwood 

After a photograph 

VlTTORIA COLONNA 

• ' Thy Castle stands, 
A mouldering landmark of the Past " 



Mary Halloch Foote 


382 


A. Fredericks 


385 


A. Fredericks 


389 


A. Fredericks 


394 


A. Fredericks 


396 



Mary Hallock Foote 397 



F. B. Schell 
F. B. Schell 



Granville Perkins 
Philip D. Mason 



400 
403 



Ernest W. Longfellow 406 
G. Kruell 408 



411 

416 

419 

Ernest W. Longfellow 421 
Ernest W. Longfellow 423 



A. Fredericks 


425 


A. Fredericks 


427 


Granville Perkins 


429 


S. S. Kilburn 


430 


Thomas Moran 


432 


Philip D. Mason 


434 


W. H. Gibson 


437 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



xxi 



The Leap of Roushan Beg 

" Careless sat he and upright ; 
Neither hand nor bridle shook " 

LTIMA THULE 
Elegiac 

"Dark is the morning -with mist; in the narrow 
mouth of the harbor " 

From My Arm Chair 

" Some fragments of its branches bare, 
Shaped as a stately chair " 

Robert Burns 

"A ploughman, who, in foul or fair, 

Sings at his task" 

The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls 
" The day returns, but nevermore 
Returns the traveller to the shore " 

THE HARBOR 
Becalmed 

"Becalmed upon the sea of Thought" 
The Poet's Calendar 

" Mine are the longest days, the loveliest nights " 

"I shroud myself in gloom " 
Moonlight 

" The very ground beneath my feet 
Is clothed with a diviner air" 

The Children's Crusade 

"Forth the young crusaders fared " 

Four by the Clock 

"Only the lamp in the anchored bark 
Sends its glimmer across the dark " 

Elegiac Verse 

" Plunges loud on the sand, pauses, and turns, and 
retreats " 

Mad River 

" The mills are tired of waiting " 
The Bells of San Blas 

"The chapel that once looked down 
On the little seaport town" 

[RISTUS: A MYSTERY 

Christus 

The Baptism of Christ 

"Beautiful as Rebecca at the fountain" 

"But thou dost make the very night itself . 
Brighter than day! " 

Christ and the Fishermen 

" Maiden, arise ! " 

" Companionless, unsatisfied, forlorn, 
I sit here in this lonely tower " 

" Thou hast sent for me, King, and I am here " 



W. L. Sheppard 



Faul Yendell 



W. L. Sheppard 



W. F. Halsall 



441 



Ernest W. Longfellow 445 



447 



449 



Ernest W. Longfellow 453 



Ernest W. Longfellow 455 

Ei-nest W. Longfellow 456 
Ernest W. Longfelloio 457 



Ernest W. Longfellow 459 
Louis Bitter 461 



462 



Ernest W. Longfellow 463. 
Ernest W. Longfellow 467 



S. L. Smith 


469 


Leonardo da Vinci 


471 


Frank V. Du Mond 


474 


Will E. Low 


477 


Will H. Low 


479 


E. Zimmermann 


483 


H. Hofmann 


487 


F. Dieiman 


488 


F. Dieiman 


492 



XX11 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



"Ah, should this be at last 

The long-expected Christ ! " W. H. Gibson 
" Good Lord! my sight — 

That I receive my sight ! " W. L. Sheppard 

"I that speak unto thee am He ! " W. L. Sheppard 
"And come, take up thy cross, and follow me" H. Hofmann 

" Go, see it in thy dreams, fair unbeliever! " Will H. Low 
" Who is this 

Exhorting in the outer courts so loudly? " W. L. Sheppard 

In the Garden of Gethsemane E. K. Liska 

" What think ye ? Is he guilty ? » W. L. Sheppard 

" Barabbas is my name " C. S. Reinhart 

"Ye Jews, behold your King! " A. Ciseri 

Golgotha J. L. Gerome 

" He is no longer here ; he is arisen ! " Will H. Low 

The Sea of Galilee F. B. Schell 

" You behold in me 

Only a travelling Physician " C. S. Reinhart 

"The trance, the swoon, the dream is o'er! 

I feel the chill of death no more ! " F. Dielman 

" Broken helmet, sword, and shield, 

Buried together, in common wreck " F. Dielman 

"Now tell me the story " C. S. Reinhart 

" The stopping of thy wheel 

Has awakened me out of a pleasant dream " F. Dielman 

"My child! my child! thou must not die ! " C. S. Reinhart 

" Therefore, to keep up the institution, 

I will add my little contribution " F. Dielman 

" Give me thy holy benediction " C. S. Reinhart 

"I alone, . . . 

Wander and weep in my remorse " C. S. Reinhart 

" Christ is arisen ! " F. Dielman 

" What can this mean? No one is near, 

And yet, such sacred words I hear" F. Dielman 

"And now these clothes, that wrapped Him, take 

And keep them precious, for his sake " C. S. Reinhart 

"I always* enter this sacred place 
With a thoughtful, solemn, and reverent pace " C. S. Reinhart 

"It is Count Hugo of the Rhine " C. S. Reinhart 

" What is that bell for? Are you such asses 
As to keep up the fashion of midnight masses?" C. S. Reinhart 

" The moon is looking from yonder hill 

Down upon convent, and grove, and garden " F. B. Schell 

"Among the wooden piles, the turbulent river 

Rushes, impetuous as the river of life " F. B. Schell 

The Devil's Bridge F. B. Schell 

"It is a band of pilgrims, moving slowly " C. S. Reinhart 

" Swiftly our light felucca flics " Thomas Moran 

"Let us see if doctors or dialecticians 

Will dare to dispute my definitions " F. Dielman 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



XX1U 



Lucifer and Elsie 
"Is this the tenant Gottlieb's farm?" 

The Recording Angels 
" Safe, j'es, safe am I here at last " 
"Peace!" 
" The greatest firmness is the greatest mercy " 

Dock Square 

"Whereas a cursed sect of Heretics 
Has lately risen, commonly called Quakers " 

" Worshipful sir! I meant no harm " 

"I am his daughter" 

"I, Wenlock Christison " 

Edith and John Endicott in Prison 

" Whv, Simon, is it you? 
Set in the bilboes?" 

"Down with this weak and cowardly concession " 

" How beautiful are these autumnal woods " 

" Here are King Charles's Twelve Good Rules ! " 

"Trouble me no more! 
My business now is with another world " 

" Outward bound " 

Witch Hill, Salem 

"Look into this glass. 
What see you?" 

" Go to the village, if you think it best, 
And leave me here; I '11 go about my work " 

"Let not the sun go down upon your wrath" 

"May not the Devil take the outward shape 
Of innocent persons " 

Corey and Gloyd wrestling 

"Ah me! ah me! 
Oh, give me leave to pray! " 

"Look! Look! It is the ghost of Robert Goodell " 

"Begone, you imp of darkness! 
You Devil's Dam! " 

St. John 

JUDAS MACCABEUS 

Jerusalem 

The Citadel at Jerusalem 

" Be strong, my heart ! " 

"Thou, Antiochus, shalt suffer 
The punishment of pride " 

Judas before the Tents 

" Through the Gate Beautiful I see them come " 

MICHAEL ANGELO: A FRAGMENT 
Michael Angelo 

From an engraving 



F. Dielman 


603 


F. Dielman 


605 


A. Fredericks 


607 


W. L. Sheppard 


609 


Frank T. Merrill 


613 


Frank T. Merrill 


615 


E. H. Garrett 


619 


Frank T. Merrill 


621 


Frank T. Merrill 


625 


Frank T. Merrill 


629 


Frank T. Merrill 


632 


Frank T. Merrill 


635 


Frank T. Merrill 


639 


Frank T. Merrill 


644 


F. T. Murphy 


645 


Frank T. Merrill 


647 


Frank T. Merrill 


650 


F. B. Schell 


651 


E. H. Garrett 


654 


J. W. Ehninger 


659 


J. W. Ehninger 


663 


J. W. Ehninger 


667 


J. W. Ehninger 


669 


J. W. Ehninger 


674 


J. W< Ehninger 


677 


J. W. Ehninger 


683 


J. W. Ehninger 


685 


P. Frenzeny 


688 


Harry Fenn 


689 


A. C. Warren 


691 


Will H. Low 


693 


Will H. Low 


697 


Will H. Low 


701 


Will H. Low 


704 



Venusti 



708 



XXIV 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



" What is it guides my hand, what thoughts 
possess me " 

" Welcome, Maestro. We were waiting for you " 

" 'Tis a Damascus blade " 

" Vesuvius lifts 
His plume of smoke " 

" Just as you are. The light falls well upon you " 

Vittoria Colonna (Ascribed to) 

A reputed study 

" Come with me ; you are wanted there in Flor- 
ence " 

" Firing at him with due aim and range " 

Sebastiano del Piombo 
From a Print 

" Sharp-cut and clear, not rounded into shadow " 
Michael Angelo's visit to Titian's Studio 
Titian 

From a print 
" What is it ye complain of ? " 
"What brings you forth so early ? " 
"Look at these walls about us and above us ! " 
Benvenuto Cellini 

"Take this purse, 
Two thousand crowns in gold " 

TRANSLATIONS 

COPLAS DE MANRIQUE 

"Faith wings the soul beyond the sky" 

" The gentle knights, that came 
To kneel, and breathe love's ardent flame " 

" Spain's Champion " 
The Brook 

" Where'er thy devious current strays " 
The Children of the Lord's Supper 

" May, with her cap crowned with roses " 

" Stood he, the God-commissioned " 

" The heavenly shepherd " 

"Faith is the sun of life " 

"Asked he the peace of heaven, a benediction 
upon them" 

King Christian 

King Christian 

The Elected Knight 

" A Knight full well equipped " 

The W.nve 

" From the struggle and the strife 
Of the narrow stream I fly " 

The Castle by the Sea 

" That lordly castle " 



Thomas Hovenden 


71 


F. D. Millet 


71 


T. de Thulstrup 


72 


Ross Turner 


72 


Thomas Hovenden 


72 


Michael Angelo 


73 


Louis Bitter 


73 


T. de Thulstrup 


73 


Vasari 


74 


Ross Turner 


74 


Walter Shirlaw 


74 


Augustino Carracci 


74 


Louis Ritter 


71 


T. de Thulstrup 


71 


F. D. Millet 


76 


Vasari 


76 


T. de Thulstrup 


77 


C. S. Reinhart 


77 


C. S. Reinhart 


77 


C. S. Reinhart 


77 


W. H. Gibson 


78 


Edwin A. Abbey 


79 


Edwin A. Abbey 


79 


Edwin A. Abbey 


79 


Edwin A. Abbey 


79 


Edwin A. Abbey 


79 


W. Ij. Sheppard 


80 


J. W. Ehninger 




A. R. Waud 


I 


G. F. Barnes 


* - 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



XXV 



The Black Knight 

" Danced in sable iron sark " 
The Two Locks of Hair 

"That vision mild " 
The Blind Girl of Castel Cuille 
Castel Cuille 

"The village seer " 

"Who knows ? perhaps I am forsaken! " 

"Why dost thou clasp me so, dear Margaret " 
On the Terrace of the Aigalades 

- "The Sea, the Town, and the Highway" 
To My Brooklet 

"Like thee I love the solitude " 
The Wine of Jurancon 

"Little sweet wine of Jurancon " 
The Terrestrial Paradise 

"Into the ancient wood" 

Seven Sonnets and a Canzone 

The Artist 
Fire 

Youth and Age 
Old Age 

To Vittoria Colonna 

The Fugitive 

" As he rides with his Kossak band " 
The Siege of Kazan 

"Not one of all the band could I see " 

To the Stork 

"Descend, Stork! descend 
Upon our roof to rest " 

Virgil's First Eclogue 

" Fortunate old man ! Here . . . 

shalt thou take the shadowy coolness " 

"Now the boys and the laughing girls the violet 
gather " 

Tail-piece. Gulls 



A. Fredericks 

Edwin A. Abbey 

W. L. Sheppard 
W. L. Sheppard 
W. L. Sheppard 
W. L, Sheppard 



810 

819 
821 

822 
826 



Thomas Moran 829 

Martha Ritchie Simpson 830 

S. L. Smith 832 

Thomas Moran 835 



C. G. Bush 


837 


C. G. Bush 


838 


C. G. Bush 


839 


W. L. Sheppard 


841 


A. C. Warren 


843 


W. H. Gibson 


844 


H. P. Share 


846 


H. P. Share 


849 


Paul Yendell 


850 




■ But the dark foliage interweaves 
In one unbroken roof of leaves " 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT 



Hotvlol, nori'ia vv£, 

virvoSoTeipa rdv iroXvnovuiv (Spor&v, 

"Epefiodev lOr /xoKe fxo\e KaTanrepos 

'Ayaixe/j.vovLOV eirl $6p.ov' 

V7ro yap aXyetov, vno re ovfj-fyopas 

Stot^6fji€0' , oi^6/u.e0a. 

Euripides. 



PRELUDE 

Pleasant it was, when woods were 
green 
And winds were soft and low, 



To lie amid some sylvan scene, 
Where, the long drooping boughs be 

tween, 
Shadows dark and sunlight sheen 
Alternate come and go ; 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT 



Or where the denser grove receives 

No sunlight from above, 
But the dark foliage interweaves 
In one unbroken roof of leaves, 10 

Underneath whose sloping eaves 

The shadows hardly move. 

Beneath some patriarchal tree 

I lay upon the ground ; 
His hoary arms uplifted he, 
And all the broad leaves over me 
Clapped their little hands in glee, 

With one continuous sound ; — 

A slumberous sound, a sound that 
brings 

The feelings of a dream, 20 

As of innumerable wings, 
As, when a bell no longer swings, 
Faint the hollow murmur rings 

O'er meadow, lake, and stream. 

And dreams of that which cannot die, 

Bright visions, came to me, 
As lapped in thought I used to lie, 
And gaze into the summer sky, 
Where the sailing clouds went by, 
Like ships upon the sea ; 30 

Dreams that the soul of youth engage 

Ere Fancy has been quelled ; 
Old legends of the monkish page, 
Traditions of the saint and sage, 
Tales that have the rime of age, 
And chronicles of eld. 

And, loving still these quaint old 
themes, 
Even in the city's throng 
I feel the freshness of the streams, 
That, crossed by shades and sunny 
gleams, 4° 

Water the green land of dreams, 
The holy land of song. 

Therefore, at Pentecost, which brings 
The Spring, clothed like a bride, 

When nestling buds unfold their 
wings, 

And bishop's-caps have golden rings, 

Musing upon many things, 
I sought the woodlands wide. 

The green trees whispered low and 
mild ; 
It was a sound of joy ! 5° 



They were my playmates when/aT 

child, L 

And rocked me in their arms so wild ! 
Still they looked at me and smiled, 
As if I were a boy ; 

And ever whispered, mild and low, 
" Come, be a child once more ! " 

And waved their long arms to and 
fro, 

And beckoned solemnly and slow ; 

Oh, I could not choose but go 
Into the woodlands hoar, — 6c 

Into the blithe and breathing air, 

Into the solemn wood, 
Solemn and silent everywhere ! 
Nature with folded hands seemed 

there, 
Kneeling at her evening prayer ! 

Like one in prayer I stood. 

Before me rose an avenue 
Of tall and sombrous pines ; 

Abroad their fan-like branches grew, 

And, where the sunshine darted 
through, 70 

Spread a vapor soft and blue, 
In long and sloping lines. 

And, falling on my weary brain, 

Like a fast -falling shower, 
The dreams of youth came back 



Low lispings of the summer rain, 
Dropping on the ripened grain, 
As once upon the flower. 

Visions of childhood ! Stay, oh, stay ! 

Ye were so sweet and wild ! 80 

And distant voices seemed to say, 
"It cannot be ! They pass away ! 
Other themes demand thy lay ; 

Thou art no more a child ! 

"The land of Song within thee lies, 
Watered by living springs; 

The lids of Fancy's sleepless eyes 

Are gates unto that Paradise ; 

Holy thoughts, like stars, arise ; 
Its clouds are angels' wings. 9° 

" Learn, that henceforth thy song shall 
be, 
Not mountains capped with snow, 
Nor forests sounding like the sea, 



A PSALM OF LIFE 



Nor rivers flowing ceaselessly, 
Where the woodlands bend to see 
The bending heavens below. 

11 There is a forest where the din 

Of iron branches sounds ! 
A mighty river roars between, 
And whosoever looks therein ioo 

Sees the heavens all black with sin, 

Sees not its depths, nor bounds. 

"Athwart the swinging branches cast, 
Soft rays of sunshine pour ; 

Then comes the fearful wintry blast ; 

Our hopes, like withered leaves, fall 
fast ; t 

Pallid lips say, ' It is past ! 
We can return no more ! ' 

"Look, then, into thine heart, and 
write ! 

Yes, into Life's deep stream ! no 
All forms of sorrow and delight, 
All solemn Voices of the Night, 
That can soothe thee, or affright, — 

Be these henceforth thy theme." 



HYMN TO THE NIGHT 

, A(Tira<xlr] i rpiWiaros 

I heard the trailing garments of the 
Night 
Sweep through her marble halls ! 
I saw her sable skirts all fringed with 
light 
From the celestial walls ! 

I felt her presence, by its spell of 
might, 
Stoop o'er me from above ; 
The calm, majestic presence of the 
Night, 
As of the one I love. 

I heard the sounds of sorrow and de- 
light, 
The manifold, soft chimes, 
That fill the haunted chambers of the 
Night, 
Like some old poet's rhymes. 

From the cool cisterns of the midnight 
air 
My spirit drank repose ; 



The fountain of perpetual peace flows 
there, — 
From those deep cisterns flows. 

O holy Night ! from thee I learn to 
bear 
What man has borne before ! 
Thou layest thy finger on the lips of 
Care, 
And they complain no more. 

Peace ! Peace ! Orestes-like I breathe 
this prayer ! 
Descend with broad-winged flight, 
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, 
the most fair, 
The best-beloved Night ! 

A PSALM OF LIFE 

WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG 
MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST 

Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 
Life is but an empty dream ! — 

For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
And things are not what they seem. 

Life is real ! Life is earnest ! 

And the grave is not its goal ; 
Dust thou art, to dust returnest, 

Was not spoken of the soul. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 
Is our destined end or way ; 

But to act, that each to-morrow 
Find us farther than to-day. 

Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 
And our hearts, though stout and 
brave, 

Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave. 

In the world's broad field of battle, 

In the bivouac of Life, 
Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! 

Be a hero in the strife ! 

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! 

Let the dead Past bury its dead ! 
Act, — act in the living Present ! 

Heart within, and God o'erhead ! 

Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime, 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT 



And, departing, leave behind us 
Footprints on the sands of time ; 

Footprints, that perhaps another, 
Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 
Seeing, shall take heart again. 

Let us, then, be up and doing, 
With a heart for any fate ; 

Still achieving, still pursuing, 
Learn to labor and to wait. 



THE REAPER AND THE 
FLOWERS 

Thebe is a Reaper, whose name is 
Death, 
And, with his sickle keen, 
He reaps the bearded grain at a 
breath, 
And the flowers that grow between. 

"Shall I have naught that is fair?" 
saith he ; 
"Have naught but the bearded 
grain ? 
Though the breath of these flowers is 
sweet to me, 
I will give them all back again." 

He gazed at the flowers with tearful 
eyes, 

He kissed their drooping leaves ; 
It was for the Lord of Paradise 

He bound them in his sheaves. 

" My Lord has need of these flowerets 
gay," 

The Reaper said, and smiled ; 
"Dear tokens of the earth are they, 

Where He was once a child. 

"They shall all bloom in fields of 
light, 

Transplanted by my care, 
And saints, upon their garments white, 

These sacred blossoms Avear." 

And the mother gave, in tears and 
pain, 
The flowers she most did love ; 
She knew she should find them all 
again 
In the fields of light above. 



Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath, 
The Reaper came that day ; 

'T was an angel visited the green 
earth, 
And took the flowers away. 



THE LIGHT OF STARS 

The night is come, but not too 
soon ; 

And sinking silently, 
All silently, the little moon 

Drops down behind the sky. 

There is no light in earth. or heaven 
But* the cold light of stars ; 

And the first watch of night is given 
To the red planet Mars. 

Is it the tender star of love ? 

The star of love and dreams ? 
Oh no ! from that blue tent above 

A hero's armor gleams. 

And earnest thoughts within me 
rise, 

When I behold afar, 
Suspended in the evening skies, 

The shield of that red star. 

star of strength ! I see thee stand 
And smile upon my pain ; 

Thou beckonest with thy mailed 
hand, 
And I am strong again. 

Within my breast there is no light 
But the cold light of stars ; 

1 give the first watch of the night 
To the red planet Mars. 

The star of the unconquered will, 

He rises in my breast, 
Serene, and resolute, and still, 

And calm, and self-possessed. 

And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, 
That readest this brief psalm, 

As one by one thy hopes depart, 
Be resolute and calm. 

Oh, fear not in a world like this, 
And thou shalt know erelong, 

Know how sublime a thing it is 
To suffer and be strong. 



FLOWERS 



FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS 

When the hours of Day are num- 
bered, 

And the voices of the Night 
Wake the better soul, that slumbered, 

To a holy, calm delight ; 

Ere the evening lamps are lighted, 
And, like phantoms grim and tall, 

Shadows from the fitful firelight 
Dance upon the parlor wall ; 



More than all things else to love me, 
And is now a saint in heaven. 

With a slow and noiseless footstep 
Comes that messenger divine, 

Takes the vacant chair beside me, 
Lays her gentle hand in mine. 

And she sits and gazes at me 
With those deep and tender eyes, 

Like the stars, so still and saint-like, 
Looking downward from the skies. 




The night is come, but not too soon ' 



Then the forms of the departed 

Enter at the open door ; 
The beloved, the true-hearted, 

Come to visit me once more ; 

He, the young and strong, who cher- 
ished 

Noble longings for the strife, 
By the roadside fell and perished, 

Weary with the march of life ! 

They, the holy ones and weakly, 
Who the cross of suffering bore, 

Folded their pale hands so meekly, 
Spake with us on earth, no more ! 

And with them the Being Beauteous, 
Who unto my youth was given, 



Uttered not, yet comprehended, 
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, 

Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, 
Breathing from her lips of air. 

Oh, though oft depressed and lonely, 
All my fears are laid aside,' 

If I but remember only 
Such as these have lived and died ! 



FLOWERS 

Spake full well, in language quaint 
and olden, 
One who dwelleth by the castled 
Rhine, 






VOICES OF THE NIGHT 



When he called the flowers, so blue 
and golden, 
Stars, that in earth's firmament do 
shine. 

Stars they are, wherein we read our 
history, 
As astrologers and seers of eld ; 
Yet not wrapped about with awful 
mystery, 
Like the burning stars, which they 
beheld. 

Wondrous truths, and manifold as 
wondrous, 
God hath written in those stars 
above ; 10 

But not less in the bright flowerets 
under us 
Stands the revelation of his love. 

Bright and glorious is that revelation, 
Written all over this great world of 
ours ; 
Making evident our own creation, 
In these stars of earth, these golden 
flowers. 

And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing, 
Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part 

Of the self -same, universal being, 
Which is throbbing in his brain and 
heart. 20 

Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight 
shining, 
Blossoms flaunting in the eye of 
day, 
Tremulous leaves, with soft and sil- 
ver lining, 
Buds that open only to decay ; 

Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous 
tissues, 
Flaunting gayly in the golden light ; 
Large desires, with most uncertain is- 
sues, 
Tender wishes, blossoming at night ! 

These in flowers and men are more than 
seeming, 
Workings are they of the self -same 
powers, 30 

Which the Poet, in no idle dream- 
ing, 
Seeth in himself and in the flowers. 



Everywhere about us are they glow- 
ing, 
Some like stars, to tell us Spring is 
born; 
Others, their blue eyes with tears o'er- 
flowing, 
Stand like Ruth amid the golden 
corn ; 

Not alone in Spring's armorial bear- 
ing, 
And in Summer's green-emblazoned 
field, 
But in arms of .brave old Autumn's 
wearing, 
In the centre of his brazen shield ; 40 

Not alone in meadows and green al- 
!eys, 
On the mountain-top, and by the 
brink 
Of sequestered pools in woodland val- 
leys, 
Where the slaves of nature stoop to 
drink ; 

Not alone in her vast dome of glory, 
Not on graves of bird and beast 
alone, 
But in old cathedrals, high and hoary, 
On the tombs of heroes, carved in 
stone ; 

In the cottage of the rudest peasant, 
In ancestral homes, whose crum- 
bling towers, 50 
Speaking of the Past unto the Present, 
Tell us of the ancient Games of 
Flowers ; 

In all places, then, and in all sea- 
sons, 
Flowers expand their light and soul- 
like wings, 
Teaching us, by most persuasive rea- 
sons, 
How akin they are to human things. 

And with childlike, credulous affec- 
tion, 
We behold their tender buds ex- 
pand; 
Emblems of our own great resurrec- 
tion, 
Emblems of the bright and better 
land. 60 



THE BELEAGUERED CITY 



THE BELEAGUERED CITY 

I have read, in some old, marvellous 
tale, 

Some legend strange and vague, 
That a midnight host of spectres pale 

Beleaguered the walls of Prague. 

Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, 
With the wan moon overhead, 

There stood, as in an awful dream, 
The army of the dead. 

White as a sea-fog, landward bound, 
The spectral camp was seen, 10 

And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, 
The river flowed between. 



Down the broad valley fast and far 

The troubled army tied ; 
Up rose the glorious morning star, 

The ghastly host was dead. 

I have read, in the marvellous heart 
of man, 
That strange and mystic scroll, 
That an army of phantoms vast and 
wan 
Beleaguer the human soul. 

Encamped beside Life's rushing 
stream, 

In Faucy's misty light, 30 

Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam 

Portentous through the night. 




" Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, 
With the wan moon overhead " 



No other voice nor sound was there, 
No drum, nor sentry's pace ; 

The mist-like banners clasped the air 
As clouds with clouds embrace. 

But when the old cathedral bell 
Proclaimed the morning prayer, 

The white pavilions rose and fell 
On the alarmed air. zc 



Upon its midnight battle-ground 

The spectral camp is seen, 
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, 

Flows the River of Life between. 

No other voice nor sound is there, 

In the army of the grave ; 
No other challenge breaks the air, 

But the rushing of Life's wave. 40 



8 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT 



And when the solemn and deep church- 
bell 

Entreats the soul to pray, 
The midnight phantoms feel the spell, 

The shadows sweep away. 

Down the broad Vale of Tears afar 

The spectral camp is fled ; 
Faith shineth as a morning star, 

Our ghastly fears are dead. 



MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE 
DYING YEAR 

Yes, the Year is growing old, 
And his eye is pale and bleared ! 

Death, with frosty hand and cold, 
Plucks the old man by the beard, 
Sorely, sorely! 

The leaves are falling, falling, 

Solemnly and slow ; 
Caw ! caw ! the rooks are calling, 

It is a sound of woe, 

A sound of woe ! 10 

Through woods and mountain passes 
The winds, like anthems, roll ; 

They are chanting solemn masses, 
Singing, " Pray for this poor soul, 
Pray, pray ! " 

And the hooded clouds, like friars, 
Tell their beads in drops of rain, 

And patter their doleful prayers ; 
But their prayers are all in vain, 
All in vain ! 2c 

There he stands in the foul weather, 

The foolish, fond Old Year, 
Crowned with wild flowers and with 
heather, 
Like weak, despised Lear 
A king, a king ! 



Then comes the summer-like day, 

Bids the old man rejoice ! 
His joy! his last! Oh, the old man 
gray 
Loveth that ever-soft voice, 

Gentle and low. 30 

To the crimson woods he saith, 
To the voice gentle and low 
Of the soft air, like a daughter's 
breath, 
" Pray do not mock me so! 
Do not laugh at me ! " 

And now the sweet day is dead ; 

Cold in his arms it lies ; 
No stain from its breath is spread 

Over the glassy skies, 

No mist or stain ! 40 

Then, too, the Old Year dieth, 
And the forests utter a moan, 

Like the voice of one who crieth 
In the wilderness alone, 
" Vex not his ghost ! " 

Then comes, with an awful roar, 
Gathering and sounding on, 

The storm- wind from Labrador, 
The wind Euroclydon, 

The storm-wind ! 50 

Howl ! howl ! and from the forest 
Sweep the red leaves away ! 

Would the sins that thou abhorrest, 
O soul ! could thus decay, 
And be swept away ! 

For there shall come a mightier blast, 

There shall be a darker day ; 
And the stars, from heaven down- 
cast 
Like red leaves be swept away ! 
Kyrie, eleyson ! 60 

Christe, eleyson ! 



BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK 



A 3 



Where, underneath the white-thorn in 

the glade, 
The wild flowers bloom, or, kissing 

the soft air, 
The leaves above their sunny palms 

outspread. 
With what a tender and impassioned 

voice 
It fills the nice and delicate ear of 

thought, 
When the fast ushering star of morn- 
ing comes 
O'er-riding the gray hills with golden 

scarf ; 
Or when the co T 'ed and dusky-san- 
dalled Eve, 10 
In mourning weeds, from out the 

western gate, 
Departs with silent pace ! That spirit 

moves 
In the green valley, where the silver 

brook, 
From its full laver, pours the white 

cascade ; 
And, babbling low amid the tangled 

woods, 
Slips down through moss-grown stones 

with endless laughter. 
And frequent, on the everlasting hills, 
Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap 

itself 
In all the dark embroidery of the storm, 
And shouts the stern, strong wind. 

And here, amid 20 

The silent majesty of these deep 

woods, 
Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts 

from earth, 
As to the sunshine and the pure, bright 

air 
Their tops the green trees lift. Hence 

gifted bards 
Have ever loved the calm and quiet 

shades. 
For them there was an eloquent voice 

in all 
The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden 

sun, 
The flowers, the leaves, the river on 

its way, 
Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gen- 
tle winds, 
The swelling upland, where the side- 
long sun 30 
Aslant the wooded slope, at evening, 

k 



Groves, through whose broken roof 

the sky looks in, 
Mountain, and shattered cliff, and 

sunny vale, 
The distant lake, fountains, and 

mighty trees, 
In many a lazy syllable, repeating 
Their old poetic legends to the wind. 

And this is the sweet spirit, that 

doth fill 
The world ; and, in these wayward 

days of youth, 
My busy fancy oft embodies it, 
As a bright image of the light and 

beauty 40 

That dwell in nature ; of the heavenly 

forms 
We worship in our dreams, and the 

soft hues 
That stain the wild bird's wing, and 

flush the clouds 
When the sun sets. Within her ten- 
der eye 
The heaven of April, with its changing 

light, 
And when it wears the blue of May, 

is hung, 
And on her lip the rich, red rose. Her 

hair 
Is like the summer tresses of the trees, 
When twilight makes them brown, 

and on her cheek 
Blushes the richness of an autumn 

sky, 50 

With ever-shifting beauty. Then her 

breath, 
It is so like the gentle air of Spring, 
As, from the morning's dewy flowers, 

it comes 
Full of their fragrance, that it is a 

joy 
To have it round us, and her silver 

voice 
Is the rich music of a summer bird, 
Heard in the still night, with its pas- 
sionate cadence. 



BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK 

On sunny slope and beechen swell. 
The shadowed light of evening fell; 
And, where the maple's leaf was 

brown, 
With soft and silent lapse came down, 



14 



EARLIER POEMS 



The glory, that the wood receives, 
At sunset, in its golden leaves. 

Far upward in the mellow light 
Rose the blue hills. One cloud of 

white, 
Around a far uplifted cone. 
In the warm blush of evening shone ; 10 
An image of the silver lakes, 
By which the Indian's soul awakes. 

But soon a funeral hymn was heard 
Where the soft breath of evening 

stirred 
The tall, gray forest ; and a band 
Of stern in heart, and strong in 

hand, 
Came winding down beside the 

wave, 
To lay the red chief in his grave. 

They sang, that by his native bowers 
He stood, in the last moon of flowers, 
And thirty snows had not yet shed 21 
Their glory on the warrior's head; 
But, as the summer fruit decays, 
So died he in those naked days. 

A dark cloak of the roebuck's skin 
Covered the warrior, and within 
Its heavy folds the weapons, made 
For the hard toils of war, were laid ; 
The cuirass, woven of plaited reeds, 
And the broad belt of shells and 
beads. 3° 

Before, a dark-haired virgin train 
Chanted the death dirge of the slain ; 
Behind, the long procession came 
Of hoary men and chiefs of fame, 
With heavy hearts, and eyes of 

grief, 
Leading the war-horse of their chief. 



Stripped of his proud and martial dress, 
Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless, 
With darting eye, and nostril spread, 
And heavy and impatient tread, 40 
He came ; and oft that eye so proud 
Asked for his rider in the crowd. 

They buried the dark chief ; they freed 
Beside the grave his battle steed ; 
And swift an arrow cleaved its way 
To his stern heart ! One piercing 

neigh 
Arose, and, on the dead man's plain, 
The rider grasps his steed again. 



L'ENVOI 

Ye voices, that arose 
After the Evening's close, 
And whispered to my restless heart re- 
pose! 

Go, breathe it in the ear 

Of all who doubt and fear, 

And say to them, " Be of good cheer ! " 

Ye sounds, so low and calm, 
That in the groves of balm 
Seemed to me like an angel's psalm ! 

Go, mingle yet once more 

With the perpetual roar 

Of the pine forest, dark and hoar! 

Tongues of the dead, not lost, 
But speaking from death's frost, 
Like fiery tongues at Pentecost ! 

Glimmer, as funeral lamps, 
Amid the chills and damps 
Of the vast plain where Death en 
camps 1 




'. : : 



■ I wooed the blue-eyed maid, 
Yielding, yet half afraid " 



BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 

Speak ! speak ! thou fearful guest 
Who, with thy hollow breast 
Still in rude armor drest, 

Comest to daunt me ! 
Wrapt not in Eastern balms, 
But with thy fleshless palms 
Stretched, as if asking alms, 

Why dost thou haunt me ? " 

Then, from those cavernous eyes 
Pale flashes seemed to rise, k 

As when the Northern skies 

Gleam in December ; 
And, like the water's flow 
Under December's snow, 



Came a dull voice of woe 
From the heart's chamber. 

I was a Viking old ! 

My deeds, though manifold, 

No Skald in song has told, 

No Saga taught thee ! 20 

Take heed, that in thy verse 
Thou dost the tale rehearse, 
Else dread a dead man's curse ; 

For this I sought thee. 

Far in the Northern Land, 
By the wild Baltic's strand, 
I, with my childish hand, 

Tamed the gerfalcon ; 
And, with my skates fast-bound, 
Skimmed the half -frozen Sound, 30 



i6 



BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS 



That the poor whimpering hound 


" AVhile the brown ale he quaffed, 


Trembled to walk on. 


Loud then the champion laughed, 




And as the wind-gusts waft 


" Oft to his frozen lair 


The sea-foam brightly, 


Tracked I the grisly bear, 


So the loud laugh of scorn, 


While from my path the hare 


Out of those lips unshorn, 


Fled like a shadow ; 


From the deep drinking-horn 


Oft through the forest dark 


Blew the foam lightly. 


Followed the were-wolf's bark, 


• 


Until the soaring lark 


" She was a Prince's child, 


Sang from the meadow. 4 o 


I but a Viking wild, 90 




And though she blushed and smiled, 


" But when I older grew, 


I was discarded ! 


Joining a corsair's crew, 


Should not the dove so white 


O'er the dark sea I flew 


Follow the sea-mew's flight, 


With the marauders. 


Why did they leave that night 


Wild was the life we led ; 


Her nest unguarded ? 


Many the souls that sped, 


"1 


Many the hearts that bled, 


' ' Scarce had I put to sea, 


By our stern orders. 


Bearing the maid with me, 




Fairest of all was she 


" Many a wassail -bout 


Among the Norsemen ! 100 


Wore the long Winter out ; 50 


When on the white sea-strand, 


Often our midnight shout 


Waving his arm&d hand, 


Set the cocks crowing, 


Saw we old Hildebrand, 


As we the Berserk's tale 


With twenty horsemen. 


Measured in cups of ale, 




Draining the oaken pail, 


' ' Then launched they to the blast, 


Filled to o'erflowing. 


Bent like a reed each mast, 




Yet we were gaining fast, 


" Once as I told in glee 


When the wind failed us ; 


Tales of the stormy sea, 


And with a sudden flaw 


Soft eyes did gaze on me, 


Came round the gusty Skaw, no 


Burning yet tender ; 60 


So that our foe we saw 


And as the white stars shine 


Laugh as he hailed us. 


On the dark Norway pine, 




On that dark heart of mine 


"And as to catch the gale 


Fell their soft splendor. 


Round veered the flapping sail, 




' Death! ' was the helmsman's hail, 


" I wooed the blue-eyed maid, 


' Death without quarter ! ' 


Yielding, yet half afraid, 


Mid-ships with iron keel 


And in the forest's shade 


Struck we her ribs of steel ; 


Our vows were plighted. 


Down her black hulk did reel 


Under its loosened vest 


Through the black water ! 120 


Fluttered her little breast, 70 




Like birds within their nest 


" As with his wings aslant, 


By the hawk frighted. 


Sails the fierce cormorant, 




Seeking some rocky haunt, 


" Bright in her father's hall 


With his prey laden, — 


Shields gleamed upon the wall, 


So toward the open main, 


Loud sang the minstrels all, 


Beating to sea again, 


Chanting his glory ; 


Through the wild hurricane, 


When of old Hildebrand 


Bore I the maiden. 


I asked his daughter's hand, 




Mute did the minstrels stand 


" Three weeks we westward bore, 


To hear my story. 80 


And when the storm was o'er, 130 




THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 



i7 



Cloud-like we saw the shore 

Stretching to leeward ; 
There for my lady's bower • 
Built I the lofty tower, 
"Which, to this very hour, 

Stands looking seaward. 

1 ' There lived we many years ; 
Time dried the maiden's tears ; 
She had forgot her fears, 

She was a mother ; 140 

Death closed her mild blue eyes, 
Under that tower she lies ; 
Ne'er shall the sun arise 

On such another ! 

" Still grew my bosom then, 
St * J 1 as a stagnant fen ! 
Hateful to me were men, 

The sunlight hateful ! 
In the vast forest here, 
Clad in my warlike gear, 150 

Fell I upon my spear, 

Oh, death was grateful ! 

' Thus, seamed with many scars, 
Bursting these prison bars, 
Up to its native stars 

My soul ascended ! 
There from the flowing bowl 
Deep drinks the warrior's soul, 
Skoal! to the Northland ! skoal!" 

Thus the tale ended. 160 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 

It was the schooner Hesperus, 
That sailed the wintry sea; 

And the skipper had taken his little 
daughter, 
To bear him company. 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy - 
flax, 
Her cheeks like the dawn of 
day, 
And her bc"^™! white as the hawthorn 
buds, 
That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm, 
His pipe was in his mouth, 10 

And he watched how the veering flaw 
did blow 
The smoke now West, now South." 



Then up and spake an old Sail6r, 
Had sailed to the Spanish Main, 

' ' I pray thee, put into yonder port, 
For I fear a hurricane. 

' ' Last night, the moon had a golden 
ring, 
And to-night no moon we see ! " 
The skipper, he blew a whiff from his 
pipe, 
And a scornful laugh laughed he. 

Colder and louder blew the wind, 21 
A gale from the Northeast, 

The snow fell hissing in the brine, 
And the billows frothed like yeast. 

Down came the storm, and smote 
amain 
The vessel in its strength ; 
She shuddered and paused, like a 
frighted steed, 
Then leaped her cable's length. 

1 ' Come hither ! come hither ! my little 
daughter, 

And do not tremble so ; 30 

For I can weather the roughest gale 

That ever wind did blow." 

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's 
coat 

Against the stinging blast ; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar, 

And bound her to the mast. 

' ' O father ! I hear the church-bells 
ring, , 
Oh say, what may it be ? " 
'"Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound 
coast ! " — 
And he steered for the open sea. 40 

' ' O father ! I hear the sound of guns, 
Oh say, what may it be ? " 

"Some ship in distress, that cannot 
live 
In such an angry sea ! " 

"O father! I see a gleaming light, 
Oh say, what may it be ? " 

But the father answered never a word, 
A frozen corpse was he. 

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 
With his face turned to the skies, 50 



i8 



BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS 



<? 



The lantern gleamed through the 
gleaming snow 
On his fixed and glassy eyes. 

Then the maiden clasped her hands 
and prayed 
That saved she might be ; 
And she thought of Christ, who stilled 
the wave, 
On the Lake of Galilee. 

And fast through the midnight dark 

and drear, 

Through the whistling sleet and 

snow, 

Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 

Tow'rds the reef of Norman's 

Woe. 60 

And ever the fitful gusts between 
A sound came from the land ; 

It was the sound of the trampling 
surf 
On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 

The breakers were right beneath her 
bows, 
She drifted a dreary wreck, 
And a whooping billow swept the 
crew 
Like icicles from her deck. 

She struck where the white and fleecy 
waves 
Looked soft as carded wool, 70 
But the cruel rocks, they gored her 
side 
Like the horns of an angry bull. 

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in 

ice, 

With the masts went by the board ; 

Like a vessel of glass, she stove and 

sank, ' 

Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! 

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 
A fisherman stood aghast, 

To see the form of a maiden fair, 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. 80 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 
The salt tears in her eyes ; 

And he saw her hair, like the brown 
sea- weed, 
On the billows fall and rise. 



Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 
In the midnight and the snow ! 

Christ save us all from a death like 
this, 
On the reef of Norman's Woe ! 



THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 

Under a spreading chestnut-tree 
The village smithy stands ; 

The smith, a mighty man is he, 
With large and sinewy hands ; 

And the muscles of his brawny arms 
Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp, and black, and 
long, 
His face is like the tan ; 
His brow is wet with honest sweat, 

He earns whate'er he can, 10 

And looks the whole world in the 
face, 
For he owes not any man. 

Week in, week out, from morn till 
night, 
You can hear his bellows blow ; 
You can hear him swing his heavy 
sledge, 
With measured beat and slow, 
Like a sexton ringing the village 
bell, 
When the evening sun is low. 

And children coming home from school 
Look in at the open door ; 20 

They love to see the flaming forge, 
And hear the bellows roar, 

And catch the burning sparks that 
fly 
Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church, 

And sits among his boys ; 
He hears the parson pray and preach, 

He hears his daughter's voice, 
Singing in the village choir, 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 30 

It sounds to him like her mother's 
voice, 
Singing in Paradise ! 
He needs must think of her once 
• more, 
How in the grave she lies ; 



ENDYMION 



i9 




And children coming home from school 
Look in at the open door " 



And with his hard, rough hand he 
wipes 
A tear out of his eyes. 

Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing, 
Onward through life he goes ; 

Each morning sees some task begin, 
Each evening sees it close ; 4° 

Something attempted, something done, 
Has earned a night's repose. 



Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy 
friend, 
For the lesson thou hast taught! 



Thus at the flaming forge of life 
Our fortunes must be wrought ; 

Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 
Each burning deed and thought. 



EISlDYMION 

The rising moon has hid the stars -, 
Her level rays, like golden bars, 
Lie on the landscape green, 
With shadows brown between. 

And silver white the river gleams, 
As if Diana, in her dreams 



20 



BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS 



Had dropt her silver b-jw 
Upon the meadows low. 

On such a tranquil night as this, 
She woke Endymion with a kiss, 
When, sleeping in the grove, 
He dreamed not of her love. 

Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, 
Love gives itself, but is not bought ; 
Nor voice, nor sound betrays 
Its deep, impassioned gaze. 

It comes, — the beautiful, the free, 
The crown of all humanity, — 

In silence and alone 

To seek the elected one. 

It lifts the boughs, whose shadows 
deep 

Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep, 
And kisses the closed eyes 
Of him who slumbering lies. 

O weary hearts ! O slumbering eyes ! 

O drooping souls, whose destinies 
Are fraught with fear and pain. 
Ye shall be loved again ! 

No one is so accursed by fate, 
No one so utterly desolate, 

But some heart, though unknown, 

Responds unto his own. 

Responds, — as if with unseen wings, 
An angel touched its quivering strings ; 
And whispers, in its song, 
"Where hast thou stayed so 
long ? " 



IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY 

No hay pajaros en los nidos de a-ntafio. 

Spanish Proverb. 

The sun is bright, — the air is clear, 
The darting swallows soar and 
sing, 

And from the stately elms I hear 
The bluebird prophesying Spring. 

So blue yon winding river flows, 
It seems an outlet from the sky, 

Where, waiting till the west wind 
blows, 
The freighted clouds at anchor lie. 



All things are new ; — the buds, the 
leaves, 
That gild the elm-tree's nodding 
crest, 
And even the nest beneath the eaves ; — 
There are no birds in last year's 
nest! 

All things rejoice in youth and love, 
The fulness of their first delight ! 

And learn from the soft heavens above 
The melting tenderness of night. 

Maiden, thatread'st this simple rhyme, 
Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay; 

En j oy the fragrance of thy prime, 
For oh, it is not always May ! 

Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, 
To some good angel leave the rest ; 

For Time will teach thee soon the 
truth, 
There are no birds in last year's nest! 

THE RAINY DAY 

/The day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 
It rains, and the wind is never weary ; 
The vine still clings to the moulder- 
ing wall, 
But at every gust the dead leaves fall, 
And the day is dark and dreary. 

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 

It rains, and the wind is never weary; 

My thoughts still cling to the moulder- 
ing Past, 

But the hopes of youth fall thick in 
the blast, 
And the days are dark, and dreary. 

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; 

Behind the clouds is the sun still shin- 
ing ; 

Thy fate is the common fate of all, 

Into each life some rain must fall, 
Some days must be dark and 
dreary. 

GOD'S-ACRE 

I like that ancient Saxon phrase, 
■ which calls 
The burial-ground God's- Acre ! It 
is just ; 



TO THE RIVER CHARLES 



21 



It consecrates each grave within its 


With thy rude ploughshare, Death, 


walls, 


turn up the sod, 


And breathes a benison o'er the 


And spread the furrow for the seed 


sleeping dust. 


we sow ; 




This is the field and Acre of our God, 


God's- Acre! Yes, that blessed name 


This is the place where human har- 


imparts 


vests grow. 


Comfort to those who in the grave 




have sown 


TO THE RIVER CHARLES 


The seed that they had garnered in 




their hearts, 


River ! that in silence windest 


Their bread of life, alas! no more 


Through the meadows, bright and 


their own. 


free, 




River ! that in silence windest 
Through the meadows, bright and free " 



Into its furrows shall we all be cast, 
In the sure faith, that we shall rise 
again 
At the great harvest, when the arch- 
angel's blast 
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff 
and grain. 

Then shall the good stand in immortal 
bloom, 
In the fair gardeus of that second 
birth ; 
And each bright blossom mingle its 
perfume 
With that of flowers, which never 
bloomed on earth. 



Till at length thy rest thou findest 
In the bosom of the sea ! 

Four long years of mingled feel- 
ing, 

Half in rest, and half in strife, 
I have seen thy waters stealing 

Onward, like the stream of life. 

Thou hast taught me, Silent River ! 

Many a lesson, deep and long; 
Thou hast been a generous giver; 

I can give thee but a song. 

Oft in sadness and in illness, 
I have watched thy current glide, 



22 



BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS 



Till the beauty of its stillness 
Overflowed me, like a tide. 

And in better hours and brighter, 
When I saw thy waters gleam, 

I have felt my heart beat lighter, 
And leap onward with thy stream. 

Not for this alone I love thee, 
Nor because thy waves of blue 

From celestial seas above thee 
Take their own celestial hue. 

Where yon shadowy woodlands hide 
thee, 

And thy waters disappear, 
Friends I love have dwelt beside thee, 

And have made thy margin dear. 

More than this ; — thy name reminds 
me 

Of three friends, all true and tried ; 
And that name, like magic, binds me 

Closer, closer to thy side. 

Friends my soul with joy remembers! 

How like quivering flames they 
start, 
When I fan the living embers 

On the hearth-stone of my heart ! 

'T is for this, thou Silent River ! 

That my spirit leans to thee ; 
Thou hast been a generous giver, 

Take this idle song from me. 

BLIND BARTIMEUS 

Blind Bartimeus at the gates 

Of Jericho in darkness waits ; . 

He hears the crowd ; — he hears a 

breath 
Say, " It is Christ of Nazareth ! " 
And calls, in tones of agony, 
'Itjvov, €\4t](t6v fxe ! 

The thronging multitudes increase; 
Blind Bartimeus, hold thy peace ! 
But still, above the noisy crowd, 
The beggar's cry is shrill and loud ; 
Until they say, "He calleth thee ! " 
©dpffei' eyetpot, (pcaveT <re ! 

Then saith the Christ, as silent stands 
The crowd, "What wilt thou at my 
hands ? " 



And he replies, "Oh, give me light ! 
Rabbi, restore the blind man's sight.' 
And Jesus answers, "T^aye* 
e H tt'kttis aov accrcoKe at ! 

Ye that have eyes, yet cannot see, 
In darkness and in misery, 
Recall those mighty Voices Three, 

'lrjcrov, i\4r)(r6v /xe ! 
®apo~er eyeipai, viraye ! 
e H tt'httis cov aeaooKe <re / 



THE GOBLET OF LIFE 

Filled is Life's goblet to the brim ; 
And though my eyes with tears are 

dim, 
I see its sparkling bubbles swim, 
And chant a melancholy hymn 
With solemn voice and slow. 

No purple flowers, — no garlands 

green, 
Conceal the goblet's shade or sheen, 
■Nor maddening draughts of Hippo- 

crene, 
Like gleams of sunshine, flash between 
Thick leaves of mistletoe. 10 

This goblet, wrought with curious 

art, 
Is filled with waters, that upstart, 
When the deep fountains of the heart 
By strong convulsions rent apart, 
Are running all to waste. 

And as it mantling passes round, 
With fennel is it wreathed and 

crowned, 
Whose seed and foliage sun-im~ 

browned 
Are in its waters steeped and drowned, 
And give a bitter taste. 20 

Above the lowly plants it towers, 
The fennel, with its yellow flowers, 
And in an earlier age than ours 
Was gifted with the wondrous powers, 
Lost vision to restore. 

It gave new strength, and fearless 

mood ; 
And gladiators, fierce and rude, 
Mingled it in their daily food ; 
And he who battled and subdued, 
A wreath of fennel wore. 30 



EXCELSIOR 



23 



Then in Life's goblet freely press 
The leaves that give it bitterness, 
Nor prize the colored waters less, 
For in thy darkness and distress 

New light and strength they give ! 

And he who has not learned to know 
How false its sparkling bubbles show, 
How bitter are the drops of woe, 
With which its brim may overflow, 
He has not learned to live. 40 

The prayer of Ajax was for light ; 
Through all that dark and desperate 

fight, 
The blackness of that noonday night, 
He asked but the return of sight, 
To see his foeman's face. 

Let our unceasing, earnest prayer 
Be, too, for light, — for strength to 

bear 
Our portion of the weight of care, 
That crushes into dumb despair 

One half the human race. 50 

O suffering, sad humanity ! 

ye afflicted ones, who lie 
Steeped to the lips in misery, 
Longing, and yet afraid to die, 

Patient, though sorely tried ! 

1 pledge you in this cup of grief, 
Where floats the fennel's bitter leaf ! 
The Battle of our Life is brief, 

The alarm, — the struggle, — the relief, 
Then sleep we side by side. 60 



MAIDENHOOD 

Maiden ! with the meek, brown eyes, 
In whose orbs a shadow lies 
Like the dusk in evening skies ! 

Thou whose locks outshine the sun, 
Golden tresses, wreathed in one, 
As the braided streamlets run ! 

Standing, with reluctant feet, 
Where the brook and river meet, 
Womanhood and childhood fleet ! 

Gazing, with a timid glance, 10 

On the brooklet's swift advance, 
On the river's broad expanse ! 



Deep and still, that gliding stream 
Beautiful to thee must seem, 
As the river of a dream. 

Then why pause with indecision, 
When bright angels in thy vision 
Beckon thee to fields Elysian ? 

Seest thou shadows sailing by, 

As the dove, with startled eye, 20 

Sees the falcon's shadow fly ? 

Hearest thou voices on the shore, 
That our ears perceive no more, 
Deafened by the cataract's roar ? 

Oh, thou child of many prayers ! 
Life hath quicksands, — Life hath 

snares ! 
Care and age come unawares ! 

Like the swell of some sweet tune, 

Morning rises into noon, 

May glides onward into June. 30 

Childhood is the bough, where slum- 
bered 
Birds and blossoms many-numbered ; — 
Age, that bough with snows encum- 
bered. 

Gather, then, each flower that grows, 
When the young heart overflows, 
To embalm that tent of snows. 

Bear a lily in thy hand ; 

Gates of brass cannot withstand 

One touch of that magic wand. 

Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, 
In thy heart the dew of youth, 41 

On thy lips the smile of truth. 

Oh, that dew, like balm, shall steal 
Into wounds that cannot heal, 
Even as sleep our eyes doth seal ; 

And that smile, like sunshine, dart 
Into many a sunless heart, 
For a smile of God thou art. 



EXCELSIOR 

The shades of night were falling fast, 
As through an Alpine village passed 



24 



BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS 



A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and 

ice, 
A banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ! 

His brow was sad ; his eye beneath, 
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath, 
And like a silver clarion rung 
The accents of that unknown tongue, 
Excelsior ! 10 

In happy homes he saw the light 

Of household fires gleam warm and 

bright; 
Above, the spectral glaciers shone, 
And from his lips escaped a groan, 
Excelsior ! 



A tear stood in his bright blue eye, 
But still he answered, with a sigh, 
Excelsior ! 

"Beware the pine-tree's withered 
branch ! 

Beware the awful avalanche!" 

This was the peasant's last Good- 
night, 

A voice replied, far up the height, 

Excelsior ! 30 

At break of day, as heavenward 
The pious monks of Saint Bernard 
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
A voice cried through the startled air, 
Excelsior ! 




' In happy homes he saw the light 
Of household fires gleam warm and bright " 



" Try not the Pass ! " the old man 
said; 

"Dark lowers the tempest over- 
head, 

The roaring torrent is deep and wide !" 

And loud that clarion voice replied, 

Excelsior ! 20 

"Oh stay," the maiden said, "and 

rest 
Thy weary head upon this breast ! " 



A traveller, by the faithful hound, 
Half -buried in the snow was found, 
Still grasping in his hand of ice 
That banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ! 4 o 

There in the twilight cold and gray, 
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, 
And from the sky, serene and far, 
A voice fell, like a falling star, 
Excelsior ! 




" The Slaver in the broad lagoon 
Lay moored with idle sail " 



POEMS ON SLAVERY 

[The following poems, with one exception, were written at sea, in the latter part of 
October, 1842. I had not then heard of Dr. Channing's death. ' Since that event the 
poem addressed to him is no longer appropriate. I have decided, however, to let it 
remain as it was written, in testimony of my admiration for a great and good man.] 



TO WILLIAM E. CHAINING 

The pages of thy book I read, 

And as I closed each one, 
My heart, responding, ever said, 

" Servant of God ! well done ! " 

Well done ! Thy words are great and 
bold; 

At times they seem to me, 
Like Luther's, in the days of old, 

Half- battles for the free. 



Go on, until this land revokes 
The old and chartered Lie, 

The feudal curse, whose whips 
yokes 
Insult humanity. 

A voice is ever at thy side 
Speaking in tones of might, 



and 



Like the prophetic voice, that cried 
To John in Patmos, " Write ! " 

Write i and tell out this bloody tale ; 

Eecord this dire eclipse, 
This Day of Wrath, this Endless Wail, 

This dread Apocalypse ! 

THE SLAVE'S DREAM 

Beside the ungathered rice he lay, 

His sickle in his hand ; 
His breast was bare, his matted hair 

Was buried in the sand. 
Again, in the mist and shadow of 
sleep, 

He saw his Native Land. 

Wide through the landscape of his 
dreams 
The lordly Niger flowed ; 



26 



POEMS ON SLAVERY 



Beneath the palm-trees on the plain 
Once more a king he strode ; 10 

And heard the tinkling caravans 
Descend the mountain road. 

He saw once more his dark - eyed 
queen 

Among her children stand ; 
They clasped his neck, they kissed his 
cheeks, 

They held him by the hand ! — 
A tear burst from the sleeper's lids 

And fell into the sand. 

And then at furious speed he rode 
Along the Niger's bank ; 20 

His bridle-reins were golden chains, 
And, with a martial clank, 

At each leap he could feel his scabbard' 
of steel 
Smiting his stallion's flank. 

Before him, like a blood-red flag, 

The bright flamingoes flew; 
From morn till night he followed their 
flight, 
O'er plains where the tamarind 
grew, 
Till he saw the roofs of Caff re huts, 
And the ocean rose to view. 30 

At night he heard the lion roar, 

And the hyena scream, 
And the river-horse, as he crushed the 
reeds 
Beside some hidden stream ; 
And it passed, like a glorious roll of 
drums, 
Through the triumph of his dream. 

The forests, with their myriad 
tongues, 
Shouted of liberty ; 
And the Blast of the Desert cried 
aloud, 
With a voice so wild and free, 40 
That he started in his sleep and smiled 
At their tempestuous glee. 

He did not feel the driver's whip, 
Nor the burning heat of day ; 

For Death had illumined the Land of 
Sleep, 
And his lifeless body lay 

A worn-out fetter, that the soul 
Had broken and thrown away ! 




THE GOOD PART 

THAT SHALL NOT BE TAKEN AWAY 

She dwells by Great Kenhawa's side, 
In valleys green and cool ; 

And all her hope and all her pride 
Are in the village school. 

Her soul, like the transparent air 
That robes the hills above, 

Though not of earth, encircles there 
All things with arms of love. 

And thus she walks among her girls 
With praise and mild rebukes ; 

Subduing e'en rude village churls 
By her angelic looks. 

She reads to them at eventide 
Of One who came to save ; 

To cast the captive's chains aside 
And liberate the slave. 

And oft the blessed time foretells 
When all men shall be free ; 

And musical, as silver bells, 
Their falling chains shall be. 

And following her beloved Lord, 

In decent poverty, 
She makes her life one sweet record 

And deed of charity. 

For she was rich, and gave up all 

To break the iron bands 
Of those who waited in her hall, 

And labored in her lands. 

Long since beyond the Southern Sea 
Their outbound sails have sped, 

While she, in meek humility, 
Now earns her daily bread. 

It is their prayers, which never cease, 
That clothe her with such grace ; 

Their blessing is the light of peace 
That shines upon her face. 

THE SLAVE IN THE DISMAL 
SWAMP 

In dark fens of the Dismal Swamp 

The hunted Negro lay ; 
He saw the fire of the midnight camp, 
And heard at times a horse's tramp 

And a bloodhound's distant bay. 



THE WITNESSES 



Where will-o'-the-wisps and glow- 
worms shine, 
In bulrush and in brake ; 
Where waving mosses shroud the 

pine, 
And the cedar grows, and the poison- 
ous vine 
Is spotted like the snake ; 

Where hardly a human foot could 
pass, 
Or a human heart would dare, 
On the quaking turf of the green 

morass 
He crouched in the rank and tangled 
grass, 
Like a wild beast in his lair. 

A poor old slave, infirm and lame ; 

Great scars deformed his face ; 
On his forehead he bore the brand of 

shame, 
And the rags, that hid his mangled 
frame, 
Were the livery of disgrace. 

All things above were bright and 
fair, 

All things were glad and free ; 
Lithe squirrels darted here and there, 
And wild birds filled the echoing air 

With songs of Liberty ! 

On him alone was the doom of pain, 

From the morning of his birth ; 
On him alone the curse of Cain 
Fell, like a flail on the garnered 
grain, 
And struck him to the earth ! 



THE SLAVE SINGING AT MID- 
NIGHT 

Loud he sang the psalm of David ! 
He, a Negro and enslaved, 
Sang of Israel's victory, 
Sang of Zion, bright and free. 

In that hour, when night is calmest, 
Sang he from the Hebrew Psalmist, 
In a voice so sweet and clear 
That I could not choose but hear, 

Songs of triumph, and ascriptions, 
Such as reached the swart Egyptians, 



When upon the Eed Sea coast 
Perished Pharaoh and his host, 

And the voice of his devotion 
Filled my soul with strange emotion ; 
For its tones by turns were glad, 
Sweetly solemn, wildly sad. 

Paul and Silas, in their prison, 
Sang of Christ, the Lord arisen. 
And an earthquake's arm of might 
Broke their dungeon-gates at night. 

But, alas ! what holy angel 
Brings the Slave this glad evangel V 
And what earthquake's arm of might 
Breaks his dungeon-gates at night ? 



THE WITNESSES 

In Ocean's wide domains, 

Half buried in the sands, 
Lie skeletons in chains, 

With shackled feet and hands. 

Beyond the fall of dews, 
Deeper than plummet lies, 

Float ships, with all their crews, 
No more to sink nor rise. 

There the black Slave-ship swims, 
Freighted with human forms, 

Whose fettered, fleshless limbs 
Are not the sport of storms. 

These are the bones of Slaves ; 

They gleam from the abyss ; 
They cry, from yawning waves, 

" We are the Witnesses! " 

Within Earth's wide domains 
Are markets for men's lives ; 

Their necks are galled with chains, 
Their wrists are cramped with 
gyves. 

Dead bodies, that the kite 

In deserts makes its prey ; 
Murders, that with affright 

Scare school-boys from their play ! 

All evil thoughts and deeds ; 

Anger, and lust, and pride ; 
The foulest, rankest weeds, 

That choke Life's groaning tide ! 



zS 



POEMS OF SLAVERY 



r. 



These are the woes of Slaves ; 

They glare from the abyss ; 
They cry, from unknown graves, 

" We are the Witnesses! " 



THE QUADROON GIRL 

The Slaver in the broad lagoon 
Lay moored with idle sail; 

He waited for the rising moon, 
And for the evening gale. 

Under the shore his boat was tied, 

And all her listless crew 
Watched the gray alligator slide 

Into the still bayou. 

Odors of orange -flowers, and spice, 
Reached them from time to time, 10 

Like airs that breathe from Paradise 
Upon a world of crime. 

The Planter, under his roof of thatch, 
Smoked thoughtfully and slow ; 

The Slaver's thumb was on the latch, 
He seemed in haste to go. 

He said, "My ship at anchor rides 

In yonder broad lagoon ; 
I only wait the evening tides, 

And the rising of the moon." 20 

Before them, with her face upraised, 

In timid attitude, 
Like one half curious, half amazed, 

A Quadroon maiden stood. 

Her eyes were large, and full of light, 
Her arms and neck were bare ; 

No garment she wore save a kirtle 
bright, 
And her own long, raven hair. 

And on her lips there played a smile 
As holy, meek, and faint, 30 

As lights in some cathedral aisle 
The features of a saint. 

' ' The soil is barren, — the farm is 
old," 

The thoughtful planter said ; 
Then looked upon the Slaver's gold, 

And then upon the maid. 



His heart within him was at strife 
With such accursed gains : 

For he knew whose passions gave her 
life, 
Whose blood ran in her veins. 40 

But the voice of nature was too weak ; 

He took the glittering gold ! 
Then pale as death grew the maiden's 
cheek, 

Her hands as icy cold. 

The Slaver led her from the door, 

He led her by the hand, 
To be his slave and paramour 

In a strange and distant land! 



THE WARNING 

Beware! The Israelite of old, who 

tore 
The lion in his path, — when, poor 

and blind, 
He saw the blessed light of heaven no 

more, 
Shorn of his noble strength and 

forced to grind 
In prison, and at last led forth to be 
A pander to Philistine revelry, — 

Upon the pillars of the temple laid 
His desperate hands, and in its over- 
throw 

Destroyed himself, and with him those 
who made 
A cruel mockery of his sightless 
woe ; 

The poor, blind Slave, the scoff and 
jest of all, 

Expired, and thousands perished in 
the fall! 

There is a poor, blind Samson in this 
land, 
Shorn of his strength and bound in 
bonds of steel, 

Who may, in some grim revel, raise 
his hand, 
And shake the pillars of this Com- 
monweal, 

Till the vast Temple of our liberties 

A shapeless mass of wreck and vub- 
bish lies. 







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1 



The Count of Lara and Don Carlos 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



DRAMATIS PERSONS 
Victorian J 

Hypolito ) 

The Count of Lara I 
Don Carlos j 

The Archbishop of Toledo. 
A Cardinal. 

Beltran Cruzado 

Bartolome RomAn 

The Padre Cura of Guadarrama. 

Pedro Crespo 

Pancho . 

Francisco 

Chispa 

Baltasar 

Preciosa 

Angelica • . . 

Martina 

Dolores 



Students of Alcala. 
Gentlemen of Madrid. 



Count of the Gypsies. 
A young Gypsy. 

Alcalde. 

Alguacil. 

Lara's Servant. 

Victorian's Servant. 

Innkeeper. 

A Gypsy Girl. 

A poor Girl. 

The Padre Cura's Niece. 

Preciosa' s Maid. 



Gypsies, Musicians, etc. 



ACT I 



Scene I. — The Count op Lara's 
chambers. Night. The Count in 
his dressing-gown, smoking and con- 
versing with Don Carlos. 



Lara. You were not at the play to- 
night, Don Carlos; 
How happened it ? 
Don G. I had engagements else- 
where. 
Pray who was there ? 



3° 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



f 



Lara. Why, all the town and court. 
The house was crowded ; and the 

busy fans 
Among the gayly dressed and per- 
fumed ladies 
Fluttered like butterflies among the 

flowers. 
There was the Countess of Medina 

Celi; 
The Goblin Lady with her Phantom 

Lover, 
Her Lindo Don Diego ; Dona Sol, 
And Dona Serafina, and her cousins. 10 
Don G. What was the play ? 
Lara. It was a dull affair ; 

One of those comedies in which you 

see, 
As Lope says, the history of the world 
Brought down from Genesis to the 

day of Judgment. 
There were three duels fought in the 

first act, 
Three gentlemen receiving deadly 

wounds, 
Laying their hands upon their hearts, 

and saying, 
" Oh, I am dead ! " a lover in a closet, 
An old hidalgo, and a gay Don Juan, 
A Dona Inez with a black mantilla, 20 
Followed at twilight by an unknown 

lover, 
Who looks intently where he knows 
she is not ! 
Don G. Of course, the Preciosa 

danced to-night ? 
Lara. And never better. Every 
footstep fell 
As lightly as a sunbeam on the water. 
I think the girl extremely beautiful. 
Don C. Almost beyond the privi- 
lege of woman ! 
I saw her in the Prado yesterday. 
Her step was royal, — queen-like, — 

and her face 
As beautiful as a saint's in Paradise. 30 
Lara. May not a saint fall from her 
Paradise, 
And be no more a saint ? 
Don G. Why do you ask ? 

Lara. Because I have heard it said 
this angel fell, 
And though she is a virgin outwardly, 
Within she is a sinner ; like those 

panels 
Of doors and altar-pieces the old 
monks 



Painted in convents, with the Virgin 

Mary 
On the outside, and on the inside 
Venus ! 
Don G. You do her wrong ; indeed, 
you do her wrong! 
She is as virtuous as she is fair. 40 
Lara. How credulous you are ! 
Why, look you, friend, 
There 's not a virtuous woman in Ma- 
drid, 
In this whole city ! And would you 

persuade me 
That a mere dancing-girl, who shows 

herself, 
Nightly, half naked, on the stage, for 

money, 
And with voluptuous motions fires 

the blood 
Of inconsiderate youth, is to be held 
A model for her virtue '? 

Don G. You forget 

She is a Gypsy girl. 

Lara. And therefore won 

The easier. 
Don G. Nay, not to be won at 
all ! 50 

The only virtue that a Gypsy prizes 
Is chastity. That is her only virtue. 
Dearer than life she holds it. I re- 
member 
A Gypsy woman, a vile, shameless 

bawd, 
Whose craft was to betray the young 

and fair ; 
And yet this woman was above all 

bribes. 
And when a noble lord, touched by 

her beauty, 
The wild and wizard beauty of her 

race, 
Offered her gold to be what she made 

others, 
She turned upon him, with a look of 
scorn, 60 

And smote him in the face ! 

Lara. And does that prove 

That Preciosa is above suspicion ? 
Don G. It proves a nobleman may 
be repulsed 
When he thinks conquest easy. I be- 
lieve 
That woman, in her deepest degrada- 
tion, 
Holds something sacred, something 
undefiled, 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



3i 



To-morrow morning bring that ring to 

me. 
Do not forget. Now light me to my 

bed. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. — A street in Madrid. 

Enter Chispa, followed by musicians, 

with a bagpipe, guitars, and other 

instruments. 

Chispa. Abernuncio Satanas ! and 
a plague on all lovers who ramble 
about at night drinking the elements, 
instead of sleeping quietly in their 
beds. Every dead man to his ceme- 
tery, say I ; and every friar to his 
monastery. Now, here 's my master, 
Victorian, yesterday a cow -keeper, 
and to-day a gentleman ; yesterday a 
student, and to-day a lover ; and I 
must be up later than the nightingale, 
for as the abbot sings so must the 
sacristan respond. God grant he 
may soon be married, for then shall 
all this serenading cease. Ay, marry ! 
marry ! marry ! Mother, what does 
marry mean ? It means to spin, to 
bear children, and to weep, my daugh- 
ter ! And, of a truth, there is some- 
thing more in matrimony than the 
wedding-ring. (To the musicians.) 
And now, gentlemen, Pax vobiscum! 
as the ass said to the cabbages. Pray, 
walk this way ; and don't hang down 
your heads. It is no disgrace to have 
an old father and a ragged shirt. 
Now, look you, you are gentlemen 
who lead the life of crickets ; you en= 
joy hunger by day and noise by night. 
Yet, I beseech you, for this once be 
not loud, but pathetic ; for it is a ser- 
enade to a damsel in bed, and not to 
the Man in the Moon. Your object is 
not to arouse and terrify, but to soothe 
and bring lulling dreams. Therefore, 
each shall not play upon his instru- 
ment as if it were the only one in the 
universe, but gently, and with a cer- 
tain modesty, according with the 
others. Pray, how may I call thy 
name, friend ? 

First Mus. Geronimo Gil, at your 
service. 

Chispa. Every tub smells of the 
wine that is in it. Pray, Geronimo, is 
not Saturday an unpleasant day with 
thee ? 



Some pledge and keepsake of her 

higher nature, 
And, like the diamond in the dark, re- 
tains 
Some quenchless gleam of the celestial 
light! 
Lara. Yet Preciosa would have 
taken the gold. 70 

Don C. {rising). I do not think so. 
Lara. I am sure of it. 

But why this haste ? Stay yet a little 

longer, 
And fight the battles of your Dulcinea. 
Don C. 'T is late. I must begone, 
for if I stay 
You will not be persuaded. 
Lara. Yes ; persuade me. 

Don C. No one so deaf as he who 

will not hear ! 
Lara. No one so blind as he who 

will not see ! 
Don C. And so good -night. I wish 
you pleasant dreams, 
And greater faith in woman. [Exit. 

Lara. Greater faith! 

I have the greatest faith ; for I be- 
lieve 80 
Victorian is her lover. I believe 
That I shall be to-morrow ; and there- 
after 
Another, and another, and another, 
Chasing each other through her zo- 
diac, 
As Taurus chases Aries. 

(Enter Francisco with a casket.) 

Well, Francisco, 
What speed with Preciosa ? 

Fran. None, my lord. 

She sends your jewels back, and bids 

me tell you 
She is not to be purchased by your 
gold. 
Lara. Then I will try some other 
way to win her. 89 

Pray, dost thou know Victorian ? 

Fran. Yes, my lord ; 

I saw him at the jeweller's to-day. 
Lara. What was he doing there ? 
Fran. I saw him buy 

A golden ring, that had a ruby in 
it. 
Lara. Was there another like it ? 
Fran. One so like it 

I could not choose between them. 
Lara. It is well. 



32 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



First Mus. Why so ? 

Chispa. Because I have heard it 
said that Saturday is an unpleasant 
day with those who have but one 
shirt. Moreover, I have seen thee at 
the tavern, and if thou canst run as 
fast as thou canst drink, I should like 
to hunt hares with thee. What in- 
strument is that ? 

First Mus. An Aragonese bagpipe. 

Chispa. Pray, art thou related to 
the bagpiper of Bujalance, who asked 
a maravedi for playing, and ten for 
leaving off ? 

First Mus. No, your honor. 

Chispa. I am glad of it. What 
other instruments have we ? 

Second and Third Musicians. We 
play the bandurria. 

Chispa. A pleasing instrument. 
And thou ? 

Fourth Mus. The fife. 

Chispa. I like it ; it has a cheerful, 
soul-stirring sound, that soars up to 
my lady's window like the song of a 
swallow. And you others ? 

Other Mus. We are the singers, 
please your honor. 

Chispa. You are too many. Do 
you think we are going to sing mass 
in the cathedral of Cordova ? Four 
men can make but little use of one 
shoe, and I see not how you can all 
sing in one song. But follow me 
along the garden wall. That is the 
way my master climbs to the lady's 
window. It is by the Vicar's skirts 
that the Devil climbs into the belfry. 
Come, follow me, and make no noise. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. — Preciosa's chamber. 
She stands at the open window. 

Free. How slowly through the lilac- 
scented air 

Descends the tranquil moon! Like 
thistledown 

The vapory clouds float in the peace- 
ful sky ; 

And sweetly from yon hollow vaults 
of shade 

The nightingales breathe out their 
souls in song. 

And hark ! what songs of love, what 
soul-like sounds, 

Answer them from below ! 



SERENADE 

Stars of the summer night! 

Far in yon azure deeps, 
Hide, hide your golden light! 10 

She sleeps! 
My lady sleeps! 

Sleeps! 

Moon of the summer night! 

Far down yon western steeps, 
Sink, sink in silver light ! 

She sleeps! 
My lady sleeps! 

Sleeps! 

Wind of the summer night! 20 

Where yonder woodbine creeps, 

Fold, fold thy pinions light ! 
She sleeps! 

My lady sleeps! 
Sleeps ! 

Dreams of the summer night! 

Tell her, her lover keeps 
Watch! while in slumbers light 

She sleeps! 
My lady sleeps! 30 

Sleeps! 

{Enter Victorian by the balcony.) 
Vict. Poor little dove ! Thou trem- 

blest like a leaf ! 
Free. I am so frightened ! 'T is for 
thee I tremble ! 
I hate to have thee climb that wall by 

night ! 
Did no one see thee ? 

Vict. None, my love, but thou. 

Free. 'T is very dangerous ; and 
when thou art gone 
I chide myself for letting thee come 

here 
Thus stealthily by night. Where hast 

thou been ? 

Since yesterday I have no news from 

thee. 

Vict. Since yesterday I have been 

in Alcala. 40 

Erelong the time will come, sweet 

Preciosa, 
When that dull distance shall no more 

divide us ; 
And I no more shall scale thy wall by 

night 
To steal a kiss from thee, as I do now. 
Free. An honest thief, to steal but 

what thou givest. 
Vict. And we shall sit together un- 
molested, 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



33 



And words of true love pass from 

tongue to tongue, 
As singing birds from one bough to 
another. 
Prec. That were a life to make time 
envious! 
I knew that thou wouldst come to me 
to-night. 50 

I saw thee at the play. 

Vict. Sweet child of air ! 

Never did I behold thee so attired 
And garmented in beauty as to-night ! 
What hast thou done to make thee 
look so fair ? 
Prec. Am I not always fair ? 
Vict. Ay, and so fair 

That I am jealous of all eyes that see 

thee, 
And wish that they were blind. 

Prec. I heed them not ; 

When thou art present, I see none but 
thee! 
Vict. There 's nothing fair nor beau- 
tiful, but takes 
Something from thee, that makes it 
beautiful. 60 

Prec. And yet thou leavest me for 

those dusty books. 
Vict. Thou comest between me and 
those books too often ! 
I see thy face in everything I see ! 
The paintings in the chapel wear thy 

looks, 
The canticles are changed to sarabands, 
And with the learned doctors of the 

schools 
I see thee dance cachuchas. 

Prec. In good sooth, 

I dance with learned doctors of the 

schools 
To-morrow morning. 

Vict. And with whom, I pray ? 
Prec. A grave and Reverend Cardi- 
nal, and his Grace 70 
The Archbishop of Toledo. 

Vict. What mad jest 

Is this ? 

Prec. It is no jest; indeed it is 

not. 
Vict. Prithee, explain thyself. 
Prec. Why, simply thus. 

Thou knowest the Pope has sent here 

into Spain 
To put a stop to dances on the stage. 
Vict. I have heard it whispered. 
Prec. Now the Cardinal, 



Who for this purpose comes, would 
fain behold 

With his own eyes these dances ; and 
the Archbishop 

Has sent for me — 

Vict. That thou mayest dance be- 
fore them 1 79 

Now viva la cachucha ! It will breathe 

The fire of youth into these, gray old 
men ! 

'T will be thy proudest conquest ! 
Prec. Saving one. 

And yet I fear these dances will be 
stopped, 

And Preciosa be once more a beggar. 
Vict. The sweetest beggar that e'er 
asked for alms ; 

With such beseeching eyes, that when 
I saw thee 

I gave my heart away ! 

Prec. Dost thou remember 

When first we met ? 

Vict. It was at Cordova, 

In the cathedral garden. Thou wast 
sitting 

Under the orange trees, beside a foun- 
tain. 90' 
Prec. 'Twas Easter Sunday. The 
full-blossomed trees 

Filled all the air with fragrance and 
with joy. 

The priests were singing, and the or- 
gan sounded, 

And then anon the great cathedral 
bell. 

It was the elevation of the Host. 

We both of us fell down upon our 
knees, 

Under the orange boughs, and prayed 
together. 

I never had been happy till that mo- 
ment. 
Vict. Thou blessed angel ! 
Prec. And when thou wast gone 

I felt an aching here. I did not speak 

To any one that day. But from that 
day 101 

Bartolome grew hateful unto me. 
Vict. Remember him no more. Let 
not his shadow 

Come between, thee and me. Sweet 
Preciosa ! 

I loved thee even then, though I was 
silent ! 
Prec. I thought I ne'er should see 
thy face again. 



34 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



Thy farewell had a sound of sorrow in 
it. 
Viet. That was the first sound in 
the song of love ! 

Scarce more than silence is, and yet a 
sound. 

Hands of invisible spirits touch the 
strings no 

Of that mysterious instrument, the 
soul, 

And play the prelude of our fate. We 
hear 

The voice prophetic, and are not alone. 
Prec. That is my faith. Dost thou 

believe these warnings ? 
Vict. So far as this. Our feelings 
and our thoughts 

Tend ever on, and rest not in the Pre- 
sent. 

As drops of rain fall into some dark 
well, 

And from below comes a scarce audi- 
ble sound, 

So fall our thoughts into the dark 
Hereafter, 

And their mysterious echo reaches 

US. 120 

Prec. I have felt it so, but found 

no words to say it ! 
I cannot reason ; I can only feel ! 
But thou hast language for all thoughts 

and feelings. 
Thou art a scholar ; and sometimes I 

think 
We cannot walk together in this 

world ! 
The distance that divides us is too 

great ! 
Henceforth thy pathway lies among 

the stars ; 
I must not hold thee back. 

Vict. Thou little sceptic ! 

Dost thou still doubt ? What I most 

prize in woman 
Is her affections, not her intellect ! 130 
The intellect is finite ; but the affec- 
tions 
Are infinite, and cannot be exhausted. 
Compare me with the great men of 

the earth ; 
What am I ? Why, a pygmy among 

giants ! 
But if thou lovest, — mark me ! I say 

lovest, — 
The greatest of thy sex excels thee 

not! 



The world of the affections is thV- 

world, 
Not that of man's ambition. In that 

stillness 
Which most becomes a woman, calm 

and holy, 
Thou sittest by the fireside of the 
heart, 140 

Feeding its flame. The element of 

fire 
Is pure. It cannot change nor hide 

its nature, 
But burns as brightly in a Gypsy camp 
As in a palace hall. Art thou con- 
vinced ? 
Prec. Yes, that I love thee, as the 
good love heaven ; 
But not that I am worthy of that 

heaven. 
How shall I more deserve it ? 

Vict. Loving more. 

Prec. I cannot love thee more ; my 

heart is full. 

Vict. Then let it overflow, and I 

will drink it, 

As in the summer-time the thirsty 

sands 150 

Drink the swift waters of the Manza- 

nares, 
And still do thirst for more. 
A Watchman (in the street). Ave 
Maria 
Purissima ! 'T is midnight and serene ! 
Vict. Hear'st thou that cry ? 
Prec. It is a hateful sound, 

To scare thee from me ! 

Vict. As the hunter's horn 

Doth scare the timid stag, or bark of 

hounds 
The moor-fowl from his mate. 
Prec. Pray, do not go ! 

Vict. I must away to Alcala to- 
night. 
Think of me when I am away. 

Prec. Fear not [ 

I have no thoughts that do not think 
of thee. 160 

Vict, (giving her a ring). And to re- 
mind thee of my love, take this; 
A serpent, emblem of Eternity ; 
A ruby, — say, a drop of my heart's 
blood. 

Prec. It is an ancient saying, that 
the ruby 

Brings gladness to the wearer, and 
preserves 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



35 



The heart pure, and, if laid beneath 

the pillow, 
Drives away evil dreams. But then, 

alas! 
It was a serpent tempted Eve to sin. 
Vict. What convent of barefooted 
Carmelites 
Taught thee so much theology ? 
Prec. (laying her hand upon his 
mouth). Hush ! hush ! 

Good night ! and may all holy angels 
guard thee ! 171 

Vict. Good night ! good night ! 
Thou art my guardian angel ! 
I have no other saint than thou to 
pray to ! 
(He descends by the balcony. ) 
Prec. Take care, and do not hurt 

thee. Art thou safe ? 
Vict, (from the garden). Safe as my 
love for thee ! But art thou safe ? 
Others can climb a balcony by moon- 
light 
As well as I, Pray shut thy window 

close ; 
I am jealous of the perfumed air of 

night 
That from this garden climbs to kiss 
thy lips. 
Prec. (throioing down her handker- 
chief). Thou silly child ! Take 
this to blind thine eyes. 180 

It is my benison ! 

Vict. And brings to me 

Sweet fragrance from thy lips, as the 

soft wind 
Wafts to the out-bound mariner the 

breath 
Of the beloved land he leaves behind. 
Prec. Make not thy voyage long. 
Vict. To-morrow night 

Shall see me safe returned. Thou art 

the star 
To guide me to an anchorage. Good 

night ! 
My beauteous star ! My star of love, 
good night ! 
Prec. Good night ! 
Watchman (at a distance). Ave 
Maria Purissima! 

Scene IV. — An inn on the road to 
Alcald. Baltasar asleep on a bench. 
Enter Chispa. 
Chispa. And here we are, half-way 

to Alcala, between cocks and mid- 



night. Body o' me ! what an inn this 
is ! The lights out, and the landlord 
asleep. Hola ! ancient Baltasar ! 

Bal. (waking). Here I am. 

Chispa. Yes, there you are, like a 
one-eyed Alcalde in a town without 
inhabitants. Bring a light, and let me 
have supper. 

Bal. Where is your master ? 

Chispa. Do not trouble yourself 
about him. We have stopped a mo- 
ment to breathe our horses ; and if he 
chooses to walk up and down in the 
open air, looking into the sky as one 
who hears it rain, that does not satisfy 
my hunger, you know. But be quick, 
for I am in a hurry, and every man 
stretches his legs according to the 
length of his coverlet. What have 
we here ? 

Bal. (setting a light on the table). 
Stewed rabbit. 

Chispa (eating). Conscience of 
Portalegre ! Stewed kitten, you 
mean ! 

Bal. And a pitcher of Pedro 
Ximenes, with a roasted pear in it. 

Chispa (drinking). Ancient Balta- 
sar, amigo ! You know how to cry 
wine and sell vinegar. I tell you this 
is nothing but Vinto Tinto of La 
Mancha, with a tang of the swine- 
skin. 

Bal. I swear to you by Saint Simon 
and Judas, it is all as I say. 

Chispa. And I swear to you by 
Saint Peter and Saint Paul, that it is 
no such thing. Moreover, your sup- 
per is like the hidalgo's dinner, very 
little meat and a great deal of table- 
cloth. 

Bal. Ha! ha! ha! 

Chispa. And more noise than nuts. 

Bal. Ha ! ha ! ha ! You must have 
your joke, Master Chispa. But shall 
I not ask Don Victorian in, to take a 
draught of the Pedro Ximenes ? 

Chispa. No; you might as well say, 
' ' Don't-you-want-some ? " to a dead 
man. 

Bal. Why does he go so often to 
Madrid ? 

Chispa. For the same reason that he 
eats no supper. He is in love. Were 
you ever in love, Baltasar ? 

Bal. I was never out of it, good 



36 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



Chispa. It has been the torment of 
my life. 

Chispa. What ! are you on fire, too, 
old haystack ? Why, we shall never 
be able to put you out. 

Vict, {without). Chispa ! 

Chispa. Go to bed, Pero Grullo, for 
the cocks are crowing. 

Vict. Ea ! Chispa ! Chispa ! 

Chispa. Ea ! Senor. Come with 
me, ancient Baltasar, and bring water 
for the horses. I will pay for the 
supper to-morrow. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. — Victorian's chambers at 
Alcala. Hypolito asleep in an a rm- 
chair. He awakes slowly. 
Hyp. I must have been asleep ! ay, 

sound asleep ! 
And it was all a dream. O sleep, 

sweet sleep ! 
Whatever form thou takest, thou art 

fair, 
Holding unto our lips thy goblet filled 
Out of Oblivion's well, a healing 

draught ! 
The candles have burned low ; it must 

be late. 
Where can Victorian be ? Like Fray 

Carrillo, 
The only place in which one cannot 

find him 
Is his own cell. Here's his guitar, 

that seldom 
Feels the caresses of its master's 

nand. 10 

Open thy silent lips, sweet instru- 
ment ! 
And make dull midnight merry with 

a song. 
(He plays and sings.) 

Padre Francisco! 
Padre Francisco ! 
What do you want of Padre Francisco ? 
Here'is a pretty young maiden 
Who wants to confess her sins! 
Open the door and let her come in, 
I will shrive her of every sin. 

(Enter Victorian.) 
Vict. Padre Hypolito ! Padre Hypo- 
lito ! 20 
Hyp. What do you want of Padre 

Hypolito ? 
Vict. Come, shrive me straight ; for, 
if love be a sin, 



I am the greatest sinner that doth 
live. 

I will confess the sweetest of all 
crimes, 

A maiden wooed and won. 
Hyp. The same old tale 

Of the old woman in the chimney- 
corner, 

Who, while the pot boils, says, " Come 
here, my child ; 

I '11 tell thee a story of my wedding- 
day." 
Vict. Nay, listen, for my heart is 
full; so full 

That I must speak. 
Hyp. Alas ! that heart of thine 30 

Is like a scene in the old play ; the 
curtain 

Rises to solemn music, and lo ! enter 

The eleven thousand virgins of 
Cologne ! 
Vict. Nay, like the Sibyl's volumes, 
thou shouldst say; 

Those that remained, after the six were 
burned, 

Being held more precious than the 
nine together. 

But listen to my tale. Dost thou re- 
member 

The Gypsy girl we saw at Cordova 

Dance the Romalis in the market- 
place ? 
Hyp. Thou meanest Preciosa. 
Vict. Ay, the same. 

Thou knowest how her image haunted 
me 41 

Long after we returned to Alcala. 

She 's in Madrid. 
Hyp. I know it. 

Vict. And I 'm in love. 

Hyp. And therefore in Madrid when 
thou shouldst be 

In Alcala. 

Vict. Oh pardon me, my friend 

If I so long have kept this secret from 
thee; 

But silence is the charm that guards 
such treasures, 

And, if a word be spoken ere the 
time, 

They sink again, they were not meant 
for us. 
Hyp. Alas! alas! I see thou art in 
love. 50 

Love keeps the cold out better than a 
cloak. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



37 



It serves for food and raiment. Give 

a Spaniard 
His mass, his olla, and his Dona 

Luisa — 
Thou knowest the proverb. But pray 

tell me, lover, 
How speeds thy wooing? Is the 

maiden coy ? 
Write her a song, beginning with an 

Ave ; 
Sing as the monk sang to the Virgin 

Mary, 
Ave ! cujus calcem clare 
Nee centenni commendare 

Sciret Seraph studio ! 60 

Vict. Pray, do not jest ! This is no 
time for it ! 
I am in earnest ! 

Hyp. Seriously enamored ? 

What, ho ! The Primus of great 

Alcala 
Enamored of a Gypsy ? Tell me 

frankly, 
How meanest thou ? 

Vict. I mean it honestly. 

Hyp. Surely thou wilt not marry 

her ! 
Vict. Why not ? 

Hyp. She was betrothed to one Bar- 
tolome, 
If I remember rightly, a young Gypsy 
Who danced with her at Cordova. 

Vict. They quarrelled, 

And so the matter ended. 

Hyp. But in truth 70 

Thou wilt not marry her. 

Vict. In truth I will. 

The angels sang in heaven when she 

was born ! 
She is a precious jewel I have found 
Among the filth and rubbish of the 

world. 
I '11 stoop for it ; but when I wear it 

here, 
Set on my forehead like the morning 

star, 
The world may wonder, but it will not 
laugh. 
Hyp. If thou wear'st nothing else 
upon thy forehead, 
T will be indeed a wonder. 

Vict. Out upon thee 

With thy unseasonable jests ! Pray 

tell me, 80 

Is there no virtue in the world ? 

Hyp. Not much. 



What, think' st thou, is she doing at 

this moment ; 
Now, while we speak of her ? 

Vict. She lies asleep, 

And from her parted lips her gentle 

breath 
Comes like the fragrance from the lips 

of flowers. 
Her tender limbs are still, and on her 

breast 
The cross she prayed to, ere she fell 

asleep, 
Rises and falls with the soft tide of 

dreams, 
Like a light barge safe moored. 

Hyp. Which means, in prose, 

She 's sleeping with her mouth a little 

open ! 90 

Vict. Oh, would I had the old magi- 
cian's glass 
To see her as she lies in child-like 

sleep ! 
Hyp. And wouldst thou venture ? 
Vict. Ay, indeed I would ! 

Hyp. Thou art courageous. Hast 

thou e'er reflected 
How much lies hidden in that one 

word, now t 
Vict. Yes ; all the awful mystery 

of Life! 
I oft have thought, my dear Hypolito, 
That could we, by some spell of magic, 

change 
The world and its inhabitants to stone, 
In the same attitudes they now are 

in, 100 

What fearful glances downward might 

we cast 
Into the hollow chasms of human life ! 
What groups should we behold about 

the death-bed, 
Putting'to shame the group of Niobe! 
What joyful welcomes, and what sad 

farewells ! 
What stony tears in those congealed 

eyes! 
What visible joy or anguish in those 

cheeks ! 
What bridal pomps, and what fune- 
real shows ! 
What foes, like gladiators, fierce and 

struggling ! 
What lovers with their marble lips to- 
gether! no 
Hyp. Ay, there it is ! and, if I were 

in love. 



38 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



That is the very point I most should 
dread. 

This magic glass, these magic spells 
of thine, 

Might tell a tale were better left un- 
told. 

For instance, they might show us thy 
fair cousin, 

The Lady Violaute, bathed in tears 

Of love and anger, like the maid of 
Colchis, 

Whom thou, another faithless Argo- 
naut, 

Having won that golden fleece, a wo- 
man's love, 

Desertest for this Glauce. 

Vict. Hold thy peace ! 120 

She cares not for me. She may wed 
another, 

Or go into a convent, and, thus dying, 

Marry Achilles in the Elysian Fields. 
Hyp. (rising). And so, good night! 
Good-morning, I should say. 

(Clock strikes three.) 

Hark! how the loud and ponderous 

mace of Time 
Knocks at the golden portals of the 

day! 
And so, once more, good night ! "We '11 

speak more largely 
Of Preciosa when we meet again. 
Get thee to bed, and the magician, 

Sleep, 
Shall show her to thee, in his magic 

glass, 130 

In all her loveliness. Good night ! 

[Exit. 

Vict. Good night ! 

But not to bed ; for I must read awhile. 

(Throws himself into the arm-chair 
which Hypolito has left, and lays a 
large look open upon his knees.) 

Must read, or sit in revery and watch 
The changing color of the waves that 

break 
Upon the idle sea-shore of the mind ! 
Visions of Fame ! that once did visit 

me, 
Making night glorious with your 

smile, where are ye ? 
Oh, who shall give me, now that ye 

are gone, 
Juices of those immortal plants that 

bloom 



Upon Olympus, making us immortal? 
Or teach me where that wondrous 

mandrake grows 141 

Whose magic root, torn from the 

earth with groans, 
At midnight hour, can scare the fiends 

away, 
And make the mind prolific in its fan- 
cies ? 
I have the wish, but want the will, to 

act! 
Souls of great men departed! Ye 

whose words 
Have come to light from the swift 

river of Time, 
Like Roman swords found in the Ta- 

gus' bed, 
Where is the strength to wield the 

arms ye bore ? 
From the barred visor of Antiquity 
Reflected shines the eternal light of 

Truth, is 1 

As from a mirror ! All the means of 

action — 
The shapeless masses, the materials — 
Lie everywhere about us. What we 

need 
Is the celestial fire to change the flint 
Into transparent crystal, bright and 

clear. 
That fire is genius ! The rude peasant 

sits 
At evening in his smoky cot, and 

draws 
With charcoal uncouth figures on the 

wall. 
The son of genius comes, foot-sore 

with travel, 160 

And begs a shelter from the inclement 

night. 
He takes the charcoal from the pea- 
sant's hand, 
And, by the magic of his touch at 

once 
Transfigured, all its hidden virtues 

shine, 
And, in the eyes of the astonished 

clown, 
It gleams a diamond! Even thus 

transformed, 
Rude popular traditions and old tales 
Shine as immortal poems, at the touch 
Of some poor, houseless, homeless, 

wandering bard, 
Who had but a night's lodging for his 

pains. 170 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



39 



But there are brighter dreams than 

those of Fame, 
Which are the dreams of Love ! Out 

of the heart 
Rises the bright ideal of these dreams, 
As from some woodland fount a spirit 

rises 
And sinks again into its silent deeps, 



Have found the bright ideal of my 

dreams. 
Yes ! she is ever with me. I can feel, 
Here, as I sit at midnight and alone, 
Her gentle breathing ! on my breast 

can feel 
The pressure of her head ! God's ben- 

ison 




" Must read, or sit in revery ' 



Ere the enamored knight can touch 

her robe ! 
'T is this ideal that the soul of man, 
Like the enamored knight beside the 

fountain, 
Waits for upon the margin of Life's 

stream ; 
Waits to behold her rise from the dark 

waters, 180 

Clad in a mortal shape! Alas! how 

many 
Must wait in vain ! The stream flows 

evermore, 
But from its silent deeps no spirit 

rises ! 
Yet I, born under a propitious star, 



Rest ever on it ! Close those beau- 
teous eyes, 190 

Sweet Sleep ! and all the flowers that 
bloom at night 

With balmy lips breathe in her ears 
my name ! 
(Gradually sinks asleep.) 

ACT II 

Scene I. — Preciosa's chamber. 
Morning. Preciosa and Angelica. 

Pree. Why will you go so soon ? 
Stay yet awhile. 
The poor too often turn away un- 
heard 



4-0 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



From hearts that shut against them 

with a sound 
That will be heard in heaven. Pray, 

tell me more 
Of your adversities. Keep nothing 

from me. 
What is your landlord's name ? 
Ang. The Count of Lara. 

Free. The Count of Lara? Oh, 

beware that man ! 
Mistrust his pity, — hold no parley 

with him ! 
And rather die an outcast in the streets 
Than touch his gold. 
Ang. You know him, then ! 

Prec. As much 10 

As any woman may, and yet be pure. 
As you would keep your name with- 
out a blemish, 
Beware of him ! 

Ang. Alas! what can I do? 

I cannot choose my friends. Each 

word of kindness, 
Come whence it may, is welcome to 

the poor. 
Prec. Make me your friend. A girl 

so young and fair 
Should have no friends but those of 

her own sex. 
"What is your name ? 
Ang. Angelica. 

Prec. That name 

Was given you, that you might be an 

angel 
To her who bore you! When your 

infant smile 20 

Made her home Paradise, you were her 

angel. 
Oh, be an angel still ! She needs that 

smile. 
So long as you are innocent, fear no- 
thing. 
No one can harm you ! I am a poor 

girl, 
Whom chance has taken from the 

public streets. 
I have no other shield than mine own 

virtue. 
That is the charm which has protected 

me ! 
Amid a thousand perils, I have worn 

it 
Here on my heart ! It is my guardian 

angel. 
Ang. {rising). I thank you for this 

counsel, dearest lady. 30 



Prec. Thank me by following it. 
Ang. Indeed I will. 

Free. Pray, do not go. I have 

much more to say. 
Ang. My mother is alone. I dare 

not leave her. 
Prec. Some other time, then, when 
we meet again. 
You must not go away with words 
alone. 

(Gives her a purse.) 
Take this. Would it were more. 
Ang. I thank you, lady. 

Prec. No thanks. To-morrow come 
to me again. 
I dance to-night, — perhaps for the 

last time. 
But what I gain, I promise shall be 

yours, 
If that can save you from the Count 
of Lara. 40 

Ang. Oh, my dear lady! how shall 
I be grateful 
For so much kindness ? 

Prec. I deserve no thanks. 

Thank Heaven, not me. 
Ang. Both Heaven and you. 

Prec. Farewell. 

Remember that you come again to- 
morrow. 
Ang. I will. And may the Blessed 
Virgin guard you, 
And all good angels. {Exit. 

Prec. May they guard thee too, 

And all the poor ; for they have need 

of angels. 
Now bring me, dear Dolores, my bas- 

quifia, 
My richest maja dress, — my dancing 

dress, 
And my most precious jewels ! Make 
me look 50 

Fairer than night e'er saw me ! I've 

a prize 
To win this day, worthy of Preciosa ! 
(Enter Beltran Cruzado.) 
Cruz. Ave Maria ! 
Prec. ' O God ! my evil genius ! 
What seekest thou here to-day ? 
Cruz. Thyself, — my child. 

Prec. What is thy will with me ? 
Cruz. Gold ! gold! 

Prec. I gave thee yesterday ; I have 

no more. 
Cruz. The gold of the Busne, — 
give me his gold ! 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



4i 



Prec. I gave the last in charity to- 
day. 
Cruz. That is a foolish lie. 
Prec. It is the truth. 

Cruz. Curses upon thee! Thou art 
not my child ! 60 

Hast thou given gold away, and not 

to me ? 
Not to thy father ? To whom, then ? 
Prec. To one 

Who needs it more. 

Cruz. No one can need it more. 

Prec. Thou art not poor. 
Cruz. What, I, who lurk about 

In dismal suburbs and unwholesome 

lanes ; 
I, who am housed worse than the galley 

slave ; 
I, who am fed worse than the kennelled 

hound ; 
I, who am clothed in rags, — Beltran 

Cruzado, — 
Not poor ! 
Prec. Thou hast a stout heart and 
strong hands. 
Thou canst supply thy wants ; what 
wouldst thou more ? 70 

Cruz. The gold of the Busne ! give 

me his gold ! 
Prec. Beltran Cruzado! hear me 
once for all. 
I speak the truth. So long as I had 

gold, 
I gave it to thee freely, at all times, 
Never denied thee ; never had a wish 
But to fulfil thine own. Now go in 

peace ! 
Be merciful, be patient, and erelong 
Thou shalt have more. 

Cruz. And if I have it not, 

Thou shalt no longer dwell here in 

rich chambers, 80 

Wear silken dresses, feed on dainty 

food, 
And live in idleness ; but go with 

me, 
Dance the Romalis in the public 

streets, 
And wander wild again o'er field and 

fell ; 
For here we stay not long. 

Prec. What ! march again 1 

Cruz. Ay, with all speed. I hate 
the crowded town ! 
I cannot breathe shut up within its 
gates ! 



Air, — I want air, and sunshine, and 

blue sky, 
The feeling of the breeze upon my 

face, 
The feeling of the turf beneath my 

feet, 
And no walls but the far-off mountain- 
tops. 90 
Then I am free and strong, — once 

more myself, 
Beltran Cruzado, Count of the Cales ! 
Prec. God speed thee on thy march ! 

— I cannot go. 
Cruz. Remember who I am, and 

who thou art ! 
Be silent and obey ! Yet one thing 

more. 
Bartolome Roman — 
Prec. {with emotion). Oh, I beseech 

thee I 
If my obedience and blameless life, 
If my humility and meek submission 
In all things hitherto, can move in 

thee 
One feeling of compassion; if thou 

art 100 

Indeed my father, and canst trace in 

me 
One look of her who bore me, or one 

tone 
That doth remind thee of her, let it 

plead 
In my behalf, who am a feeble girl, 
Too feeble to resist, and do not force 

me 
To wed that man! I am afraid of 

him! 
I do not love him ! On my knees I 

beg thee 
To use no violence, nor do in haste 
What cannot be undone ! 

Cruz. O child, child, child ! 

Thou hast betrayed thy secret, as a 

bird no 

Betrays her nest, by striving to con- 
ceal it. 
I will not leave thee here in the great 

city 
To be a grandee's mistress. Make 

thee ready 
To go with us ; and until then remem- 
ber 
A watchful eye is on thee. [Exit. 

Prec. Woe is me ! 

I have a strange misgiving in my 

heart ! 



42 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



But that one deed of charity I '11 do, 
Befall what may ; they cannot take 
that from me. 

Scene II. — A room in the Arch- 
bishop's Palace. The Archbishop 
and a Cardinal seated. 

Arch. Knowing how near it touched 

the public morals, 
And that our age is grown corrupt 

and rotten 
By such excesses, we have sent to 

Rome, 
Beseeching that his Holiness would 

aid 
In curing the gross surfeit of the 

time, 
By seasonable stop put here in Spain 
To bull-fights and lewd dances on the 



All this you know. 

Card. Know and approve. 

Arch. And further, 

That, by a mandate from his Holiness, 
The first have been suppressed. 

Card. I trust forever. 10 

It was a cruel sport. 

Arch. A barbarous pastime, 

Disgraceful to the land that calls it- 
self 
Most Catholic and Christian. 

Card. Yet the people 

Murmur at this; and, if the public 

dances 
Should be condemned upon too slight 

occasion, 
Worse ills might follow than the ills 

we cure. 
As Partem et Circenses was the cry 
Among the Roman populace of old, 
So Pan y Toros is the cry in Spain. 
Hence I would act advisedly herein ; 20 
And therefore have induced your 

Grace to see 
These national dances, ere we interdict 
them. 

{Enter a Servant.) 
Serv. The dancing -girl, and with 
her the musicians 
Your Grace was pleased to order, wait 
without. 
Arch. Bid them come in. Now 
shall your eyes behold 
In what angelic, yet voluptuous shape 
The Devil came to tempt Saint An- 
thony. 



(Enter Preciosa, with a mantle 
thrown over her head. She advances 
slowly, in modest, half-timid atti- 
tude.) 

Card, (aside). Oh, what a fair and 
ministering angel 
Was lost to heaven when this sweet 
woman fell ! 
Prec. (kneeling before the Arch- 
bishop). I have obeyed the or- 
der of your Grace. 30 
If I intrude upon your better hours, 
I proffer this excuse, and here beseech 
Your holy benediction. 

Arch. May God bless thee, 

And lead thee to a better life. Arise. 

Card, (aside). Her acts are modest, 

and her words discreet ! 

I did not look for this ! Come hither, 

child. 
Is thy name Preciosa ? 
Prec. Thus I am called. 

Card. That is a Gypsy name. Who 

is thy father ? 
Prec. Beltran Cruzado, Count of 

the Cales. 
Arch. I have a dim remembrance 
of that man ; 40 

He was a bold and reckless character, 
A sun-burnt Ishmael ! 

Card. Dost thou remember 

Thy earlier days ? 

Prec. Yes ; by the Darro's side 

My childhood passed. I can remem- 
ber still 
The river, and the mountains capped 

with snow ; 
The villages, where, yet a little child, 
I told the traveller's fortune in the 

street ; 
The smuggler's horse, the brigand and 

the shepherd ; 
The march across the moor ; the halt 

at noon ; 
The red fire of the evening camp, that 
lighted 50 

The forest where we slept ; and, fur- 
ther back, 
As in a dream or in some former life, 
Gardens and palace walls. 

Arch. 'T is the Alhambra, 

Under whose towers the Gypsy camp 

was pitched. 
But the time wears ; and we would 
see thee dance. 
Prec. Your Grace shall be obeyed. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



43 



(S/is lays aside her mantilla. The mu- 
sic of the cachucha is played, and the 
dance begins. The Archbishop and 
the Cardinal look on with gravity 
and an occasional frown ; then make 
signs to each other ; and, as the dance 
continues, become more and more 
pleased and excited; and at length 
rise from their seats, throw their caps 
in the air, and applaud vehemently 
as the scene closes.) 

Scene III. — The Prado. A long ave- 
nus of trees leading to the gate of 
Atocha. On the right the dome and 
spires of a convent. A fountain. 
Evening. Don Carlos and Hypo- 



Don G. Hola ! good evening, Don 

Hypolito. 
Hyp. And a good evening to my 

friend, Don Carlos. 



Some lucky star has led my steps this 

way. 
I was in search of you. 
Don C. Command me always. 

Hyp. Do you remember, in Queve- 
do's Dreams, 
The miser, who, upon the Day of 

Judgment, 
Asks if his money-bags would rise ? 

Don G. I do; 

But what of that ? 
Hyp. I am that wretched man. 

Don G. You mean to tell me yours 

have risen empty ? 
Hyp. And amen ! said my Cid Cam- 
peador. 10 

Don G. Pray, how much need 

you? 
Hyp. Some half-dozen ounces, 

Which, with due interest — 
Don G. (giving his purse). What, 
am I a Jew 




Preciosa, the Cardinal and the Archbishop 



44 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



To put my moneys out at usury ? 
Here is my purse. • 

Hyp. Thank you. A pretty purse. 
Made by the hand of some fair Madri- 

lena ; 
Perhaps a keepsake. 
Don G. No, 't is at your service. 
Hyp. Thank you again. Lie there, 
good Chrysostom, 
And with thy golden mouth remind 

me often, 
I am the debtor of my friend. 

Don G. But tell me, 

Come you to-day from Alcala ? 
Hyp. This moment. 20 

Don G. And pray, how fares the 

brave Victorian ? 
Hyp. Indifferent well; that is to 
say, not well. 
A. damsel has ensnared him with the 

glances 
Of her dark, roving eyes, as herdsmen 

catch 
A steer of Andalusia with a lazo. 
He is in love. 

Don G And is it faring ill 

To be in love ? 
Hyp. In his case very ill. 

Don G. Why so ? 

Hyp. For many reasons. First and 
foremost, 
Because he is in love with an ideal : 
A creature of his own imagination ; 30 
A child of air ; an echo of his 

heart ; 
And, like a lily on a river floating, 
She floats upon the river of his 
thoughts ! 
Don C. A common thing with poets. 
But who is 
This floating lily ? For, in fine, some 

woman, 
Some living woman, — not a mere 

ideal, — 
Must wear the outward semblance of 

his thought. 
Who is it ? Tell me. 

Hyp. Well, it is a woman ! 

But, look you, from the coffer of his 

heart 
He brings forth precious jewels to 
adorn her, 40 

A.S pious priests adorn some favorite 

saint 
With gems and gold, until at length 
she gleams 



One blaze of glory. Without these, 

you know, 
And the priest's benediction, 't is a 
doll. 
Don G. Well, well! who is this 

doll? 
Hyp. Why, who do you think ? 

Don G. His cousin Violante. 
Hyp. Guess again. 

To ease his laboring heart, in the last 

storm 
He threw her overboard, with all her 
ingots. 
Don G. I cannot guess ; so tell me 

who it is. 
Hyp. Not I. 
Don G. Why not ? 

Hyp. (mysteriously). Why? Be- 
cause Mari Franca 50 
Was married four leagues out of Sala- 
manca ! 
Don G. Jesting aside, who is it ? 
Hyp. Preciosa. 
Don G. Impossible ! The Count of 
Lara tells me 
She is not virtuous. 

Hyp. Did I say she was ? 

The Roman Emperor Claudius had a 

wife 
Whose name was Messalina, as I think; 
Valeria Messalina was her name. 
But hist! I see him yonder through 

the trees, 
Walking as in a dream. 
Don G. He comes this way. 

Hyp. It has been truly said by some 
wise man, 60 

That money, grief, and love cannot 
be hidden. 
(Enter Victorian in front.) 
Vict. Where'er thy step has passed 
is holy ground ! 
These groves are sacred ! I behold 

thee walking 
Under these shadowy trees, where we 

have walked 
At evening, and I feel thy presence 

now ; 
Feel that the place has taken a charm 

from thee, 
And is forever hallowed. 

Hyp. Mark him well ! 

See how he strides away with lordly 

air, 
Like that odd guest of stone, that grim 
Commander 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



45 



Who comes to sup with Juan in the 
play. 7 o 

Don C. What ho ! Victorian ! 
Hyp. Wilt thou sup with us ? 

Vict. Hola ! amigos ! Faith, I did 
not see you. 
How fares Don Carlos ? 
Don C. At your service ever. 



Hyp. But, speaking of green eyes, 
Are thine green ? 

Vict. Not a whit. Why so ? 

Hyp. I think 

The slightest shade of green would be 

becoming, 
For thou art jealous. 

Vict. No, I am not jealous. 




Hold ! amigos. Faith, I did not see you " 



Vict. How is that young and green- 
eyed Gaditana 
That you both wot of ? 

Don G. Ay, soft, emerald eyes ! 

She has gone back to Cadiz. 

Hyp. Ay de mi ! 

Vict. You are much to blame for 

letting her go back. 

A pretty girl ; and in her tender 

eyes 
Just that soft shade of green we some- 
times see 79 
In evening skies. 



Hyp. Thou shouldst be. 
Vict. Why ? 

Hyp. Because thou art in love. 

And they who are in love are always 

jealous. 
Therefore thou shouldst be. 

Vict. Marry, is that all ? 

Farewell ; I am in haste. Farewell. 

Don Carlos. 
Thou say est I should be jealous ? 

Hyp. Ay, in truth 

I fear there is reason. Be upon thy 
guard. 



46 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



I hear it whispered that the Count of 

Lara 90 

Lays siege to the same citadel. 

Vict. Indeed ! 

Then he will have his labor for his 

pains. 
Hyp. He does not think so, and Don 

Carlos tells me 
He boasts of his success. 

Vict. How 's this, Don Carlos ? 

Bon C. Some hints of it I heard from 

his own lips. 
He spoke but lightly of the lady's 

virtue, 
As a gay man might speak. 

Vict. Death and damnation! 

I'll cut his lying tongue out of his 

mouth, 
And throw it to my dog ! But, no, 

no, no! 
This cannot be. You jest, indeed you 

jest. 100 

Trifle with me no more. For other- 
wise 
We are no longer friends. And so, 

farewell ! [Exit. 

Hyp. Now what a coil is here ! The 

Avenging Child 
Hunting the traitor Quadros to his 

death, 
And the great Moor Calaynos, when 

he rode 
To Paris for the ears of Oliver, 
Were nothing to him ! O hot-headed 

youth ! 
But come ; we will not follow. Let 

us join 
The crowd that pours into the Prado. 

There 
We shall find merrier company ; I 

see no 

The Marialonzos and the Almavivas, 
And fifty fans, that beckon me already. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. — Preciosa's chamber. She 
is sitting, with a book in her hand, 
near a table, on which are flowers. A 
bird singing in its cage. The Count 
op Lara enters behind unperceived. 
Prec. {reads). 

All are sleeping, weary heart ! 

Thou, thou only sleepless art! 

Heigho! I wish Victorian were here. 
I know not what it is makes me sorest- 
less ! 



( The bird sings. ) ¥• 

Thou little prisoner with thy motley 

coat, 
That from thy vaulted, wiry dungeon 

singest, 
Like thee I am a captive, and, like 

thee, 
I have a gentle jailer. Lack-a-day ! 

All are sleeping, weary heart ! 
Thou, thou only sleepless art! 10 

All this throbbing, all this aching, 
Evermore shall keep thee waking, 
For a heart in sorrow breaking 
Thinketh ever of its smart ! 

Thou speakest truly, poet! and me- 

thinks 
More hearts are breaking in this world 

of ours 
Than one would say. In distant vil- 
lages 
And solitudes remote, where winds 

have wafted 
The barbed seeds of love, or birds of 

passage 
Scattered them in their flight, do they 

take root, 20 

And grow in silence, and in silence 

perish. 
Who hears the falling of the forest 

leaf? 
Or who takes note of every flower 

that dies ? 
Heigho ! I wish Victorian would come. 
Dolores ! 

{Turns to lay down her book, and per- 
ceives the Count.) 

Ha! 

Lara. Senora, pardon me ! 

Prec. How 's this ? Dolores ! 
Lara. Pardon me — 

Prec. Dolores ! 

Lara. Be not alarmed ; I found no 
one in waiting. 
If I have been too bold — 
Prec. {turning her back upon him). 
You are too bold J 
Retire ! retire, and leave me ! 

Lara. My dear lady, 

First hear me ! I beseech you, let me 
speak ! 30 

'T is for your good I come. 
Prec. {turning toward him with in- 
dignation). Begone! begone! 
You are the Count of Lara, but your 
deeds 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



47 



Would make the statues of your an- 
cestors 
Blush on their tombs ! Is it Castilian 

honor, 
Is it Castilian pride, to steal in here 
Upon a friendless girl, to do her wrong ? 
Oh shame ! shame ! shame ! that you, 

a nobleman, 
Should be so little noble in your 

thoughts 
As to send jewels here to win my love, 
And think to buy my honor with your 

gold ! 40 

I have no words to tell you how I 

scorn you ! 
Begone ! The sight of you is hateful 

to me! 
Begone, I say ! 
Lara. Be calm; I will not harm 

you. 
Prec. Because you dare not. 
Lara. I dare anything ! 

Therefore beware ! You are deceived 

in me. 
In this false world, we do not always 

know 
Who are our friends and who our ene- 
mies. 
We all have enemies, and all need 

friends. 
Even you, fair Preciosa, here at court 
Have foes, who seek to wrong you. 

Prec. If to this 

I owe the honor of the present visit, 
You might have spared the coming. 

Having spoken, 52 

Once more I beg you, leave me to my- 
self. 
Lara. I thought it but a friendly 

part to tell you 
What strange reports are current here 

in town. 
For my own self, I do not credit them ; 
But there are many who, not knowing 

you, 
Will lend a readier ear. 

Prec. There was no need 

That you should take upon yourself 

the duty 
Of telling me these tales. 

Lara. Malicious tongues 60 

Are ever busy with your name. 

Prec. Alas ! 

I 've no protectors. I am a poor girl, 
Exposed to insults and unfeeling 

jest. 



They wound me, yet I cannot shield 

myself. 
I give no cause for these reports. I 

live 
Retired ; am visited by none. 

Lara. By none ? 

Oh, then, indeed, you are much 
wronged ! 
Prec. How mean you ? 

Lara. Nay, nay ; I will not wound 
your gentle soul 
By the report of idle tales. 

Prec. Speak out ! 

What are these idle tales ? You need 

not spare me. 70 

Lara. I will deal frankly with you. 

Pardon me : 

This window, as I think, looks towards 

the street, 
And this into the Prado, does it not ? 
In yon high house, behind the garden 

wall, 
You see the roof there just above the 

trees, — 
There lives a friend, who told me yes- 
terday, 
That on a certain night, — be not of- 
fended 
If I too plainly speak, — he saw a man 
Climb to your chamber window. You 

are silent ! 

I would not blame you, being young 

and fair — 80 

(He tries to embrace her. She starts 

back, and draws a dagger from her 

bosom.) 

Prec. Beware ! beware ! I am a 
Gypsy girl ! 
Lay not your hand upon me. One 

step nearer 
And I will strike ! 

Lara. Pray you, put up that dagger. 
Fear not. 

Prec. I do not fear. I have a heart 
In whose strength I can trust. 

Lara. Listen to me. 

I come here as your friend, — I am 

your friend, — 
And by a single word can put a stop 
To all those idle tales, and make your 

name 
Spotless as lilies are. Here on my 

knees, 
Fair Preciosa ! on my knees I swear, 90 
I love you even to madness, and that 
love 



4 8 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



Has driven me to break the rules of 

custom, 
And force myself unasked into your 

presence. 

(Victorian enters behind). 

Prec. Rise, Count of Lara! That 
is not the place 

For such as you are. It becomes you 
not 

To kneel before me. I am strangely 
moved 

To see one of your rank thus low and 
humbled ; 

For your sake I will put aside all an- 
ger, 

All unkind feeling, all dislike, and 



In gentleness, as most becomes a 

woman, ioo 

And as my heart now prompts me. I 

no more 
Will hate you, for all hate is painful 

to me. 
But if, without offending modesty 
And that reserve which is a woman's 

glory, 
I may speak freely, I will teach my 

heart 
To love you. 

Lara. O sweet angel ! 
Prec. Ay, in truth, 

Far better than you love yourself or 

me. 
Lara. Give me some sign of this, — 

the slightest token. 
Let me but kiss your hand! 

Prec. Nay, come no nearer. 

The words I utter are its sign and to- 
ken, no 
Misunderstand me not! Be not de- 
ceived ! 
The love wherewith I love you is not 

such 
As you would offer me. For you 

come here 
To take from me the only thing I 

have, 
My honor. You are wealthy, you have 

friends 
And kindred, and a thousand pleasant 

hopes 
That fill your heart with happiness; 

but I 
Am poor, and friendless, having but 

one treasure, 



And you would take that from me, 

and for what ? 
To flatter your own vanity, and make 
me 120 

What you would most despise. Oh, 

sir, such love, 
That seeks to harm me, cannot be true 

love. 
Indeed it cannot. But my love for 

you 
Is of a different kind. It seeks your 

good. 
It is a holier feeling. It rebukes 
Your earthly passion, your unchaste 

desires, 
And bids you look into your heart, and 

see 
How you do wrong that better nature 

in you, 
And grieve your soul with sin. 

Lara. I swear to you, 

I would not harm you ; I would only 
love you. 130 

I would not take your honor, but re- 
store it, 
And in return I ask but some slight 

mark 
Of your affection. If indeed you love 

me, 
As you confess you do, oh, let me 

thus 
With this embrace — 

Vict, {rushing forward). Hold! 
hold ! This is too much. 
What means this outrage ? 

Lara. First, what right have you 
To question thus a nobleman of Spain ? 
Vict. I too am noble, and you are 
no more ! 
Out of my sight ! 
Lara. Are you the master here ? 
Vict. Ay, here and elsewhere, when 
the wrong of others 140 

Gives me the right ! 
Prec. {to Lara). Go ! I beseech 

you, go! 
Vict. I shall have business with 

you, Count, anon! 
Lara. You cannot come too soon! 

[Exit. 
Prec. Victorian ! 

Oh, we have been betrayed ! 

Vict. Ha ! ha ! betrayed ! 

'T is I have been betrayed, not we ! — 
not we ! 
Prec. Dost thou imagine — 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



49 



Vict. I imagine nothing ; 

I see how 't is thou whilest the time 

away 
When I am gone ! 

Prec. Oh, speak not in that tone ! 
It wounds me deeply. 

Vict. 'T was not meant to flatter. 
Prec. Too well thou knowest the 
presence of that man 150 

Is hateful to me ! 

Vict. Yet I saw thee stand 

And listen to him, when he told his 
love. 
Prec. I did not heed his words. 
Vict. Indeed thou didst, 

And answeredst them with love. 
Prec. Hadst thou heard all — 

Vict. I heard enough. 
Prec. Be not so angry with me. 

Vict. I am not angry ; I am very 

calm. 
Prec. If thou wilt let me speak — 
Vict. Nay, say no more. 

I know too much already. Thou art 

false ! 
I do not like these Gypsy marriages ! 
Where is the ring I gave thee ? 
Prec. In my casket. 160 

Vict. There let it rest! I would not 
have thee wear it : 
I thought thee spotless, and thou art 
polluted ! 
Prec. I call the Heavens to witness — 
Vict. Nay, nay, nay! 

Take not the name of Heaven upon 

thy lips ! 
They are forsworn ! 
Prec. Victorian ! dear Victorian ! 
Vict. I gave up all for thee ; my- 
self, my fame, 
My hopes of fortune, ay, my very soul ! 
And thou hast been my ruin ! Now, 

go on ! 

Laugh at my folly with thy paramour 

And, sitting on the Count of Lara's 

knee, 170 

Say what a poor, fond fool Victorian 

was ! 
{He casts her from him and rushes out.) 
Prec. And this from thee ! 
{Scene closes.) 

Scene V. — The Count of Laka's 
rooms. Enter the Count. 
Lara. There 's nothing in this world 
so sweet as love, 



And next to love the sweetest thing is 

hate! 
I 've learned to hate, and therefore am 

revenged. 
A silly girl to play the prude with me ! 
The fire that I have kindled — 
{Enter Francisco.) 

Well, Francisco, 
What tidings from Don Juan ? 

Fran. Good, my lord ; 

He will be present. 
Lara. And the Duke of Lermos ! 
Fran. Was not at home. 
Lara. How with the rest ? 

Fran. I 've found 

The men you wanted. They will all 

be there, 
And at the given signal raise a whirl- 
wind 10 
Of such discordant noises, that the 

dance 
Must cease for lack of music. 

Lara, Bravely done. 

Ah ! little dost thou dream, sweet Pre- 

ciosa, 
What lies in wait for thee. Sleep 

shall not close 
Thine eyes this night ! Give me my 
cloak and sword. \Exeunt. 

Scene VI. — A retired spot beyond the 
city gates. Enter Victorian and 
Hypolito. 
Vict. Oh shame ! Oh shame ! Why 

do I walk abroad 
By daylight, when the very sunshine 

mocks me, 
And voices, and familiar sights and 

sounds 
Cry, "Hide thyself!" Oh, what a 

thin partition 
Doth shut out from the curious world 

the knowledge 
Of evil deeds that have been done in 

darkness ! 
Disgrace has many tongues. My fears 

are windows, 
Through which all eyes seem gazing. 

Every face 
Expresses some suspicion of my 

shame. 
And in derision seems to smile at 

me! 10 

Hyp. Did I not caution thee ? Did 

I not tell thee 
I was but half persuaded of her virtue? 



5° 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



Vict. And yet, Hypolito, we may be 

wrong, 

We may be over-hasty in condemning ! 

The Count of Lara is a cursed villain. 

Hyp. And therefore is she cursed, 

loving him. 
Viet. She does not love him ! 'T is 

for gold ! for gold ! 
Hyp. Ay, but remember, in the 
public streets 
He shows a golden ring the G-ypsy 

gave him, 
A serpent with a ruby in its mouth. 20 
Vict. She had that ring from me! 
God ! she is false ; 
But I will be revenged! The hour is 

passed. 
Where stays the coward ? 

Hyp. Nay, he is no coward ; 

A villain, if thou wilt, but not a 

coward. 
I 've seen him play with swords ; it is 

his pastime. 
And therefore be not over-confident, 
He '11 task thy skill anon. Look, here 

he comes. 
(Enter Lara folloiced by Francisco.) 
Lara. Good evening, gentlemen. 
Hyp. Good evening, Count. 

Lara. I trust I have not kept you 

long in waiting. 
Vict. Not long, and yet too long. 
Are you prepared V 30 

Lara. I am. 

Hyp. It grieves me much to see this 
quarrel 
Between you, gentlemen. Is there no 

way 
Left open to accord this difference, 
But you must make one with your 
swords ? 
Viet. No ! none ! 

I do entreat thee, dear Hypolito, 
Stand not between me and my foe. 

Too long 
Our tongues have spoken. Let these 

tongues of steel 
End our debate. Upon your guard, 

Sir Count. 
(They fight. Victorian disarms the 

Count.) 
Your life is mine ; and what shall now 

withhold me 
From sending your vile soul to its ac- 
count ? 40 



Lara. Strike ! strike ! 
Vict. You are disarmed. I will not 
kill you. 
I will not murder you. Take up your 
sword. 

(Francisco hands the Count his 
sword, and Hypolito interposes.) 

Hyp. Enough! Let it end here! 

The Count of Lara 
Has shown himself a brave man, and 

Victorian 
A generous one, as ever. Now be 

friends. 
Put up your swords ; for, to speak 

frankly to you, 
Your cause of quarrel is too slight a 

thing 
To move you to extremes. 

Lara. I am content. 

I sought no quarrel. A few hasty 

words, 
Spoken in the heat of blood, have led 

to this. 50 

Vict. Nay, something more than 

that. 
Lara. I understand you. 

Therein I did not mean to cross your 

path. 
To me the door stood open, as to 

others. 
But, had I known the girl belonged 

to you, 
Never would I have sought to win her 

from you. 
The truth stands now revealed; she 

has been false 
To both of us. 

Vict. Ay, false as hell itself ! 

Lara. In truth, I did not seek her ; 

she sought me ; 
And told me how to win her, telling 

me 
The hours when she was oftenest left 

alone. 60 

Vict. Say, can you prove this to me ? 

Oh, pluck out 
These awful doubts, that goad me 

into madness ! 
Let me know all ! all ! all ! 

Lara. You shall know all. 

Here is my page, who was the mes- 
senger 
Between us. Question him. Was it 

not so, Francisco ? 
Fran. Ay, my lord. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



5* 



Lara. If further proof 

Is needful, I have here a ring she gave 

me. 
Vict. Pray let me see that ring ! It 

is the same ! 
{Throws it upon the ground, and tram- 
ples upon it.) 
Thus may she perish who once wore 

that ring ! 
Thus do I spurn her from me; do thus 

trample 70 

Her memory in the dust ! O Count of 

Lara, 
We both have been abused, been much 

. abused ! 
I thank you for your courtesy and 

frankness. 
Though, like the surgeon's hand, 

yours gave me pain, 
Yet it has cured my blindness, and I 

thank you. 
I now can see the folly I have done, 
Though 't is, alas ! too late. So fare 

you well ! 
To-night I leave this hateful town 

forever. 
Regard me as your friend. Once 

more farewell ! 
Hyjo. Farewell, Sir Count. 
[Exeunt Victorian and Htpolito. 
Lara. Farewell ! farewell ! fare- 
well ! 80 
Thus have I cleared the field of my 

worst foe ! 
I have none else to fear ; the fight is 

done, 
The citadel is stormed, the victory 

won ! [Exit icith Francisco. 

Scene VII. — A lane in the suburbs. 
Night. Enter Cruz ado and Bar- 

TOLOME. 

Cruz. And so, Bartolome, the expe- 
dition failed. But where wast thou 
for the most part ? 

Bart. In the Guadarrama moun- 
tains, near San Ildefonso. 
. Cruz. And thou bringest nothing 
back with thee ? Didst thou rob no 
one ? 

Bart. There was no one to rob, 
save a party of students from Segovia, 
who looked as if they would rob us ; 
and a jolly little friar, who had no- 
thing in his pockets but a missal and a 
loaf of bread. 



Cruz. Pray, then, what brings thee 
back to Madrid? 

Bart. First tell me what keeps thee 
here ? 

Cruz. Preciosa. 

Bart. And she brings me back. 
Hast thou forgotten thy promise ? 

Cruz. The two years are not passed 
yet. Wait patiently. The girl shall 
be thine. 

Bart. I hear she has a Busne lover. 

Cruz. That is nothing. 

Bart. I do not like it. I hate him, 
— the son of a Busne harlot. He goes 
in and out, and speaks with her alone, 
and I must stand aside, and wait his 
pleasure. 

Cruz. Be patient, I say. Thou 
shalt have thy revenge. When the 
time comes, thou shalt waylay him. 

Bart. Meanwhile, show me her 
house. 

Cruz. Come this way. But thou 
wilt not find her. She dances at the 
play to-night. 

Bart. No matter. Show me the 
house. [Exeunt. 

Scene VIII. — The Theatre. The or- 
chestra plays the cachucha. Sound 
of castanets behind the scenes. The 
curtain rises, and discovers Pre- 
ciosa in the attitude of commencing 
the dance. The cachucha. Tumult ; 
hisses ; cries of ' ' Brava ! " and 
' ' Afuera ! " She falters and pauses. 
The music stops. General confusion. 
Preciosa faints. 

Scene IX. — The Count of Lara's 
chambers. Lara and his friends at 
supper. 

Lara. So, Caballeros, once more 
many thanks ! 
You have stood by me bravely in this 

matter. 
Pray fill your glasses. 

Don J. Did you mark, Don Luis, 
How pale she looked, when first the 

noise began, 
And then stood still, with her large 

eyes dilated ! 
Her nostrils spread ! her lips apart ! 

her bosom 
Tumultuous as the sea ! 
Don L. I pitied her. 



5 2 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



Lara. Her pride is humbled ; and 
this very night 
I mean to visit her. 
Don J. Will you serenade her ? 

Lara. No music ! no more music ! 



Don L. 



Why not music 



It softens many hearts. 

Lara. Not in the humor 

She now is in. Music would madden 
her. 
Don J. Try golden cymbals. 
Don L. Yes, try Don Dinero ; 

A mighty wooer is your Don Dinero. 
Lara. To tell the truth, then, I have 
bribed her maid. 
But, Caballeros, you dislike this wine. 
A bumper and away ; for the night 

wears. 
A health to Preciosa. 

(They rise and drink.) 

All. Preciosa. 

Lara (holding up his glass). Thou 

bright and naming minister of 

Love ! 

Thou wonderful magician ! who hast 

stolen 20 

My secret from me, and 'mid sighs of 

passion 
Caught from my lips, with red and 

fiery tongue, 
Her precious name ! Oh nevermore 

henceforth 
Shall mortal lips press thine ; and 

nevermore 
A mortal name be whispered in thine 

ear. 
Go ! keep my secret ! 
(Drinks and dashes the goblet down.) 
Don J. Ite ! missa est ! 

(Scene closes. ) 

Scene X. — Street and garden wall. 
Night. Enter Crtjzado and Bar- 

TOLOME. 

Cruz. This is the garden wall, and 
above it, yonder, is her house. The 
window in which thou seest the light 
is her window. But we will not go 
in now. 

Bart. Why not ? 

Cruz. Because she is not at home. 

Bart. No matter; we can wait. 
But how is this ? The gate is bolted. 
(Sound of guitars and voices in a 
neighboring street.) Hark ! There 



comes her lover with his infernal sere- 
nade ! Hark ! 



Good night ! Good night, beloved! 

I come to watch o'er thee! 
To be near thee, — to be near thee, 

Alone is peace for rne. 

Thine eyes are stars of morning, 
Thy Tips are crimson flowers! 

Goodnight! Good night, beloved, 20 
While I count the weary hours. 

Cruz. They are not coming this 
way. 
Bart. Wait, they begin again. 

song (coming nearer) 
Ah! thou moon that shinest 

Argent-clear above ! 
All night long enlighten 

My sweet lady-love ; 

Moon that shinest, 
All night long enlighten ! 

Bart. Woe be to him, if he comes 
this way ! 3° 

Cruz. Be quiet, they are passing 
down the street. 

song (dying away) 

The nuns in the cloister 

Sang to each other ; 
For so many sisters 

Is there not one brother! 

Ay, for the partridge, mother! 
Thecat has run away with the partridge ! 

Puss! puss! puss! 

Bart. Follow that ! follow that ! 

Come with me. Puss ! puss ! 40 

(Exeunt. On the opposite side enter 

the Count op Lara and gentlemen 

with Francisco.) 

Lara. The gate is fast. Over the 
wall, Francisco, 
And draw the bolt. There, so, and 

so, and over. 
Now, gentlemen, come in, and help 

me scale 
Yon balcony. How now ? Her light 

still burns. 
Move warily. Make fast the gate, 

Francisco. 
(Exeunt. Reenter Cruzado and Bar- 

TOLOME. ) 

Bart. They went in at the gate. 
Hark! I hear them in the garden. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



53 



{Tries the gate.) Bolted again ! Vive 
Cristo ! Follow me over the wall. 
{They climb the wall.) 

Scene XI. — Preciosa's bedchamber. 
Midnight. She is sleeping in an 
arm-chair, in an undress. Dolores 
watching her. 
Dol. She sleeps at last ! 
{Opens the window, and listens.) 

All silent in the street, 
And in the garden. Hark ! 

Prec. {in her sleep). I must go 
hence ! 
Give me my cloak ! 
Dol. He comes ! I hear his foot- 
steps. 
Prec. G-o tell them that I cannot 
dance to-night ; 
I am too ill ! Look at me ! See the 

fever 
That burns upon my cheek ! I must 

go hence. 
I am too weak to dance. 

{Signal from the garden.) 
Dol. {from the window). Who's 

there ? 
Voice {from below). A friend. 

Dol. I will undo the door. Wait 

till I come. 
Prec. I must go hence. I pray you 
do not harm me ! 
Shame ! shame ! to treat a feeble wo- 
man thus ! 10 
Be you but kind, I will do all things 

for you. 
I'm ready now, — give me my casta- 
nets. 
Where is Victorian ? Oh, those hate- 
ful lamps ! 
They glare upon me like an evil eye. 
I cannot stay. Hark ! how they 

mock at me ! 
They hiss at me like serpents ! Save 
me ! save me ! 

(She wakes.) 
How late is it, Dolores ? 
Dol. It is midnight. 

Prec. We must be patient. Smooth 
this pillow for me. 
[She sleeps again. Noise from the gar- 
den, and voices.) 
Voice. Muera ! 

Another voice. O villains ! villains ! 
Lara. So ! have at you ! 



Voice. Take that ! 
Lara. Oh, I am wounded ! 

Dol. (shutting the window). Jesu 
Maria ! 20 

ACT III 

Scene I. — A cross-road through a 
wood. Ln the background a distant 
village spire. Victorian and Hy- 
polito, as travelling students, with 
guitars, sitting under the trees. Hy- 
polito plays and 



SONG 

Ah, Love! 
Perjured, false, treacherous Love ! 

Enemy 
Of all that mankind may not rue ! 

Most untrue 
To him who keeps most faith with thee. 

Woe is me ! 
The falcon has the eyes of the dove. 

Ah, Love! 
Perjured, false, treacherous Love ! 10 

Vict. Yes, Love is ever busy with 
his shuttle, 

Is ever weaving into life's dull warp 

Bright, gorgeous flowers and scenes 
Arcadian ; 

Hanging our gloomy prison-house 
about 

With tapestries, that make its walls 
dilate 

In never-ending vistas of delight. 
Hyp. Thinking to walk in those Ar- 
cadian pastures, 

Thou hast run thy noble head against 
the wall. 

song (continued) 

Thy deceits 
Give us clearlV to comprehend, 20 

Whither tend 
All thy pleasures, all thy sweets! 

They are cheats, 
Thorns below and flowers above.. 

Ah, Love! 
Perjured, false, treacherous Love! 

Vict. A very pretty song. I thank 

thee for it. 
Hyp. It suits thy case. 
Vict. Indeed, I think it does. 

What wise man wrote it ? 

Hyp. Lopez Maldonado. 

Vict. In truth, a pretty song. 

With much truth in it. 30 



54 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



I hope thou wilt profit by it ; and in 

earnest 
Try to forget this lady of thy love. 
Vict. I will forget her ! All dear 

recollections 
Pressed in my heart, like flowers 

within a book, 
Shall be torn out, and scattered to the 

winds ! 
I will forget her ! But perhaps here- 
after, 
When she shall learn how heartless is 

the world, 
A voice within her will repeat my 

name, 
And shj will say, " He was indeed my 

friend ! " 
Oh, would I were a soldier, not a 

scholar, 40 

That the loud march, the deafening 

beat of drums, 
The shattering blast of the brass- 
throated trumpet, 
The din of arms, the onslaught and 

the storm, 
And a swift death, might make me 

deaf forever 
To the upbraidings of this foolish 

heart ! 
Hyp. Then let that foolish heart 

upbraid no more ! 
To conquer love, one need but will to 

conquer. 
Vict. Yet, good Hypolito, it is in 

vain 
I throw into Oblivion's sea the sword 
That pierces me ; for, like Excalibar, 
With gemmed and flashing hilt, it will 

not sink. 51 

There rises from below a hand that 

grasps it, 
And waves it in the air ; and wailing 

voices 
Are heard along the shore. 

Hyp. And yet at last 

Down sank Excalibar to rise no more. 
This is not well. In truth, it vexes me. 
Instead of whistling to the steeds of 

Time, 
To make them jog on merrily with 

life's burden, 
Like a dead weight thou hangest on 

the ^wheels. 
Thou art too young, too full of lusty 

health 60 

To talk of dying. 



Vict. Yet I fain would die ! 

To go through life, unloving and un- 
loved ; 
To feel that thirst and hunger of the 

soul 
We cannot still; that longing, that 

wild impulse, 
And struggle after something we 

have not 
And cannot have ; the 'effort to be 

strong ; 
And, like the Spartan boy, to smile, 

and smile, 
While secret wounds do bleed beneath 

our cloaks ; 
All this the dead feel not, — the dead 

alone ! 
Would I were with them! 
Hyp. We shall all be soon. 70 

Vict. It cannot be too soon ; for I 

am weary 
Of the bewildering masquerade of 

Life, 
Where strangers walk as friends, and 

friends as strangers ; 
Where whispers overheard betray false 

hearts; 
And through the mazes of the crowd 

we chase 
Some form of loveliness, that smiles, 

and beckons, 
And cheats us with fair words, only to 

leave us 
A mockery and a j est ; maddened, — 

confused, — 
Not knowing friend from foe. 

Hyp. Why seek to know ? 

Enjoy the merry shrove -tide of thy 

youth ! 80 

Take each fair mask for what it gives 

itself, 
Nor strive to look beneath it. 

Vict. I confess, 

That were the wiser part. But Hope 

no longer 
Comforts my soul. I am a wretched 

man, 
Much like a poor and shipwrecked 

mariner, 
Who, struggling to climb up into the 

boat, 
Has both his bruised and bleeding 

hands cut off, 
And sinks again into the weltering sea, 
Helpless and hopeless! 

Hyp. Yet thou shalt not perish. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



55 



The strength of thine own arm is thy 
salvation. 90 

Above thy head, through rifted clouds, 
there shines 

A glorious star. Be patient. Trust 
thy star ! 

{Sound of a village bell in the distance.) 
Vict. Ave Maria ! I hear the sacris- 
tan 

Ringing the chimes from yonder vil- 
lage belfry ! 

A solemn sound, that echoes far and 
wide 

Over the red roofs of the cottages, 

And bids the laboring hind afield, the 
shepherd, 

Guarding his flock, the lonely mule- 
teer, 

And all the crowd in village streets, 
stand still, 

And breathe a prayer unto the blessed 
Virgin ! 100 

Hyp. Amen ! amen ! Not half a 
league from hence 

The village lies. 

Vict. This path will lead us to it, 

Over the wheat-fields, where the shad- 
ows sail 

Across the running sea, now green, 
now blue, 

And, like an idle mariner on the main, 

Whistles the quail. Come, let us 
hasten on. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. — Public square in the vil- 
lage of Guadarrama. The Ave 
Maria still tolling. A crowd of vil- 
lagers, with their hats in their hands, 
as if in prayer. In front, a group 
of Gypsies. The bell rings a merrier 
peal. A Gypsy dance. Enter 
Pancho, followed by Pedro Crespo. 
Pancho. Make room, ye vagabonds 
and Gypsy thieves ! 
Make room for the Alcalde and for 
me! 
Pedro G. Keep silence all! I have 
an edict here 
From our most gracious lord, the King 

of Spain, 
Jerusalem, and the Canary Islands, 
Which I shall publish in the market- 
place. 
Open your ears and listen ! 
{Enter the Padre Cura at the door of 
his cottage.) 



Padre Cura, 
Good .day ! and, pray you, hear this 
edict read. 
Padre G. Good day, and God be 

with you ! Pray, what is it ? 
Pedro G. An act of banishment 
against the Gypsies ! 10 

{Agitation and murmurs in the crowd. ) 

Pancho. Silence ! 

Pedro G. {reads). ' ' I hereby order 
and command, 
That the Egyptian and Chaldean 

strangers, 
Known by the name of Gypsies, shall 

henceforth 
Be banished from the realm, as vaga- 
bonds 
And beggars; and if, after seventy 

days, 
Any be found within our kingdom's 

bounds, 
They shall receive a hundred lashes 

each ; 
The second time, shall have their ears 

cut off ; 
The third, be slaves for life to him 

who takes them, 
Or burnt as heretics. Signed, I, the 
King." 20 

Vile miscreants and creatures unbap- 

tized ! 
You hear the law ! Obey and disap- 
pear! 
Pancho. And if in seventy days 
you are not gone, 
Dead or alive I make you all my slaves. 
( The Gypsies go out in confusion, show- 
ing signs of fear and discontent. 
Pancho follows. ) 

Padre G. A righteous law ! A very 
righteous law ! 
Pray you, sit down. 

Pedro G. I thank you heartily. 

( Tliey seat themselves on a bench at the 
Padre Cura's door. Sound of gui- 
tars heard at a distance, approach- 
ing during the dialogue which fol- 
lows.) 

A very righteous judgment, as you 

say. 
Now tell me, Padre Cura, — you know 

all things, — 
How came these Gypsies into Spain ? 
Padre G. Why, look you ; 



56 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



They came with Hercules from Pales- 
tine, 30 

And hence are thieves and vagrants, 
Sir Alcalde, 

As the Simoniacs from Simon Magus. 

And, look you, as Fray jayme Bleda 



There are a hundred marks to prove a 
Moor 

Is not a Christian, so 'tis with the 
Gypsies. 

They never marry, never go to mass, 

Never baptize their children, nor keep 
Lent, 

Nor see the inside of a church, nor — 
nor — 
Pedro G. Good reasons, good, sub- 
stantial reasons all ! 

No matter for the other ninety -five. 40 

They should be burnt, I see it plain 
enough, 

They should be burnt. 

(Enter Victorian and Hypolito 
playing.) 

Padre G. And pray, whom have we 

here ? 
Pedro C. More vagrants ! By Saint 

Lazarus, more vagrants ! 
Hyp. Good evening, gentlemen ! 

Is this Guadarrama ? 
Padre G Yes, Guadarrama, and 

good evening to you. 
Hyp. We seek the Padre Cura of 
the village; 
And, judging from your dress and rev- 
erend mien, 
You must be he. 
Padre G I am. Pray, what 's your 

pleasure ? 
Hyp. We are poor students travel- 
ling in vacation. 
You know this mark ? 
( Touching the wooden spoon in his hat- 
band.) 
Padre C. {joyfully). Ay, know it, 
and have worn it. so 

Pedro G. (aside). Soup-eaters! by the 
mass ! The worst of vagrants ! 
And there 's no law against them. Sir, 
your servant. [Exit. 

Padre C. Your servant, Pedro 

Crespo. 
Hyp. Padre Cura, 

From the first moment I beheld your 
face, 



I said within myself, "This is the 

man!" 
There is a certain something in your 

looks, 
A certain scholar-like and studious 

something, — 
You understand, — which cannot be 

mistaken ; 
Which marks you as a very learned 

man, 
In fine, as one of us. 

Vict, (aside). What impudence! 60 
Hyp. As we approached, I said to 

my companion, 
"That is the Padre Cura; mark my 

words ! " 
Meaning your Grace. ' ' The other 

man," said I, 
"Who sits so awkwardly upon the 

bench, 
Must be the sacristan." 

Padre G Ah ! said you so ? 

Why, that was Pedro Crespo, the Al- 
calde ! 
Hyp. Indeed ! you much astonish 

me ! His air 
Was not so full of dignity and grace 
As an alcalde's should be. 

Padre G. That is true. 

He 's out of humor with some vagrant 

Gypsies, 70 

Who have their camp here in the 

neighborhood. 
There 's nothing so undignified as an- 
ger. 
Hyp. The Padre Cura will excuse 

our boldness, 
If, from his well-known hospitality, 
We crave a lodging for the night. 

Padre G. I pray you ! 

You do me honor ! I am but too 

happy 
To have such guests beneath my hum- 
ble roof. 
It is not often that I have occasion 
To speak with scholars; and Emollit 

mores, 
Nee sinit esse feros, Cicero says. 80 

Hyp. 'T is Ovid, is it not ? 
Padre G. No, Cicero. 

Hyp. Your Grace is right. You are 

the better scholar. 
Now what a dunce was I to think it 

Ovid ! 
But hang me if it is not ! (Aside. ) 
Padre C. Pass this way. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



57 



He was a very great man, was Cicero! 
Pray you, go in, go in! no ceremony. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. — A room in the Padre 
Cuba's house. Enter the Padre 
and Hypolito. 

Padre G. So then, Senor, you come 
from Alcala. 
I am glad to hear it. It was there I 
studied. 
Hyp. And left behind an honored 
name, no doubt. 
How may I call your Grace ? 

Padre G Geronimo 

De Santillana, at your Honor's ser- 
vice. 
Hyp. Descended from the Marquis 
Santillana ? 
From the distinguished poet ? 

Padre G. From the Marquis, 

Not from the poet. 

Hyp. Why, they were the same. 
Let me embrace you ! Oh, some lucky 

star 
Has brought me hither! Yet once 
more ! — once more ! 10 

Your name is ever green in Alcala, 
And our professor, when we are un- 
ruly, 
Will shake his hoary head, and say, 

"Alas! 
It was not so in Santillana' s time ! " 
Padre G. I did not think my name 

remembered there. 
Hyp. More than remembered ; it is 

idolized. 
Padre G. Of what professor speak 

you ? 
Hyp. Timoneda. 

Padre G. I don't remember any 

Timoneda. 
Hyp. A grave and sombre man, 
whose beetling brow 
O'erhangs the rushing current of his 
• speech 20 

As rocks o'er rivers hang. Have you 
forgotten ? 
Padre C. Indeed, I have. Oh, those 
were pleasant days, 
Those college days ! I ne'er shall see 

the like! 
I had not buried then so many hopes! 
I had not buried then so many friends ! 
I 've turned my back on what was then 
before me ; 



And the bright faces of my young com- 
panions 
Are wrinkled like my own, or are no 

more. 
Do you remember Cueva ? 
Hyp. Cueva ? Cueva ? 

Padre G. Fool that I am ! He was 
before your time. 30 

You're a mere boy, and I am an old 
man. 
Hyp. I should not like to try my 

strength with you. 
Padre C. Well, well. But I forget; 
you must be hungry. 
Martina! ho ! Martina! 'T is my niece, 

(Enter Martina.) 

Hyp. You may be proud of such a 
niece as that. 
I wish I had a niece. Emollit mores. 

(Aside. ) 
He was a very great man, was Cicero ! 
Your servant, fair Martina. 
Mart. Servant, sir. 

Padre G. This gentleman is hungry. 
See thou to it. 
Let us have supper. 

Mart. 'T will be ready soon. 40 

Padre C. And bring a bottle of my 

Valde-Penas 

Out of the cellar. Stay ; I '11 go myself. 

Pray you, Senor, excuse me. [Exit. 

Hyp. • Hist ! Martina ! 

One word with you. Bless me ! what 

handsome eyes ! 
To-day there have been Gypsies in the 

village. 
Is it not so ? 
Mart. There have been Gypsies here. 
Hyp. Yes, and have told your for- 
tune ? 
Mart, (embarrassed). Told my for- 
tune ? 
Hyp. Yes, yes; I know they did, 
Give me your hand. 
I'll tell you what they said. They 

said, — they said, 

The shepherd boy that loved you was 

a clown, 50 

And him you should not marry. Was 

it not ? 

Mart, (surprised). How know you 

that? 
Hyp. Oh, I know more than that. 
What a soft little hand ! And then 
they said, 



58 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



A cavalier from court, handsome, and 

tall, 
And rich, should come one day to 

marry you, 
And you should be a lady. Was it 

not? 
He has arrived, the handsome cavalier. 

( Tries to kiss her. She runs off. Enter 
Victorian, with a letter.) 

Vict. The muleteer has come. 
Hyp. So soon ? 

Vict. I found him 

Sitting at supper by the tavern door, 
And, from a pitcher that he held 
aloft . 60 

His whole arm's length, drinking the 
blood-red wine. 
Hyp. What news from Court ? 
Vict. He brought this letter only. 
(Reads. ) 
Oh, cursed perfidy ! Why did I let 
That lying tongue deceive me ! Pre- 

ciosa, 
Sweet Preciosa ! how art thou 
avenged ! 
Hyp. What news is this, that makes 
thy cheek turn pale, 
xind thy hand tremble ? 

Vict. Oh, most infamous ! 

The Count of Lara is a worthless vil- 
lain ! 
Hyp. That is no news, forsooth. 
Vict. He strove in vain 

To steal from me the jewel of my soul, 
The love of Preciosa. Not succeed- 
ing, 71 
He swore to be revenged ; and set on 

foot 
A plot to ruin her, which has suc- 
ceeded. 
She has been hissed and hooted from 

the stage, 
Her reputation stained by slanderous 

lies 
Too foul to speak of ; and, once more 

a beggar, 
She roams a wanderer over God's 

green earth, 
Housing with Gypsies ! 

Hyp. To renew again 

The Age of Gold, and make the shep- 
herd swains 
Desperate with love, like Gasper Gil's 
Diana. 80 

Redit et Virgo ! 



Vict. Dear Hypolito, 

How have I wronged that meek, con- 
fiding heart ! 
I will go seek for her ; and with my 

tears 
Wash out the wrong I 've done her ! 

Hyp. Oh, beware ! 

Act not that folly o'er again. 

Vict. Ay, folly, 

Delusion, madness, call it what thou 

wilt, 
I will confess my weakness, — I still 

love her ! 
Still fondly love her ! 

(Enter the Padre Cura. ) 

Hyp. Tell us, Padre Cura, 

Who are these Gypsies in the neigh- 
borhood ? 
Padre G. Beltran Cruz ado and his 

crew. 
Vict. Kind Heaven, 

I thank thee ! She is found ! is found 
again ! 91 

Hyp. And have they with them a 
pale, beautiful girl, 
Called Preciosa ? 

Padre G. Ay, a pretty girl. 

The gentleman seems moved. 

Hyp. Yes, moved with hunger, 

He is half famished with this long 

day's journey. 

Padre C. Then, pray you, come 

this way. The supper waits. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. — A post-house on the road 
to Segovia, not far from the village 
of Guadarrama. Enter Chispa, 
cracking a whip, and singing the ca- 
chucha. 

Chispa. Halloo ! Don Fulano ! Let 
us have horses, and quickly. Alas, 
poor Chispa ! what a dog's life dost 
thou lead ! I thought, when I left my 
old master Victorian, the student, to 
serve my new master Don Carlos, the 
gentleman, that I, too, should lead the 
life of a gentleman ; should go to bed 
early, and get up late. For when the 
abbot plays cards, what can you ex- 
pect of the friars ? But, in running 
away from the thunder, I have run into 
the lightning. Here I am in hot chase 
after my master and his Gypsy girl. 
And a good beginning of the week it 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



59 



is, as he said who was hanged on 
Monday morning. 

{Enter Don Carlos.) 
Don C. Are not the horses ready 
yet? 

Chispa. I should think not, for the 
hostler seems to be asleep. Ho ! with- 
in there ! Horses ! horses ! horses ! 
{He knocks at the gate with his whip, 
and enter Mosquito, putting on his 
jacket. ) 



Mosq. Are you from Madrid ? 

Chispa. Yes; and going to Estra- 
madura. Get us horses. 

Mosq. What 's the news at Court ? 

Chispa. Why, the latest news is, 
that I am going to set up a coach, and 
I have already bought the whip. 

{Strikes him round the legs.) 



Let 



]. Oh ! oh! you hurt me! 
Don C. Enough of this folly. 




" Are not the horses ready yet ? " 



Mosq. Pray, have a little patience. 
I 'm not a musket. 

Chispa. Health and pistareens ! 
I 'm glad to see you come on dancing, 
padre ! Pray, what 's the news ? 

Mosq. You cannot have fresh 
horses ; because there are none. 

Chispa. Cachiporra! Throw that 
bone to another dog. Do I look like 
your aunt ? 

Mosq. No ; she has a beard. 

Chispa. Go to ! go to I 



us have horses. {Gives money to Mos- 
quito.) It is almost dark ; and we 
are in haste. But tell me, has a band 
of Gypsies passed this way of late ? 

Mosq. Yes ; and they are still in 
the neighborhood. 

Don C. And where ? 

Mosq. Across the fields yonder, in 
the woods near Guadarrama. [Exit. 

Don C. Now this is lucky. We 
will visit the Gypsy camp. 

Chispa. Are you not afraid of the 



f%^ 



60 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



evil eye ? Have you a stag's horn 
with you ? 

Don C. Fear not. We will pass 
the night at the village. 

Chispa. And sleep like the Squires 
of Hernan Daza, nine under one blan- 
ket. 

Don C. I hope we may find the 
Preciosa among them. 

Chispa. Among the Squires ? 

Don C. No; among the Gypsies, 
blockhead ! 

Chispa. I hope we may ; for we 
are giving ourselves trouble enough 
on her account. Don't you think so ? 
However, there is no catching trout 
without wetting one's trousers. Yon- 
der come the horses. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. — The Gypsy camp in the 
forest. Night. Gypsies working at 
a forge. Others playing cards by the 
firelight. 
Gypsies (at the forge sing). 

On the top of a mountain I stand, 
With a crown of red gold in my hand, 
Wild Moors come trooping over the lea, 
Oh how from their fury shall I flee, flee, 

flee? 
Oh how from their fury shall I flee ? 

First Gypsy (playing). Down with 
your John-Dorados, my pigeon. Down 
with your John-Dorados, and let us 
make an end. 

Gypsies (at the forge sing). 

Loud sang the Spanish cavalier, 10 

And thus his ditty ran ; 
God send the Gypsy lassie here, 

And not the Gypsy man. 

First Gypsy (playing). There you 
are in your morocco ! 

Second Gypsy. One more game. 
The Alcalde's doves against the Padre 
Cura's new moon. 

First Gypsy. Have at you, Chirelin. 
(at the forge sing). 



At midnight, when the moon began 20 

To show her silver flame, 
There came to him no Gypsy man, 

The Gypsy lassie came. 

(Enter Beltran Cruzado. ) 
Cruz. Come hither, Murcigalleros 
and Rastilleros; leave work, leave 
play ; listen to your orders for the 



night. (Speaking to the right.) You 
will get you to the village, mark you, 
by the stone cross. 

Gypsies. Ay ! 30 

Cruz, (to the left). And you, by the 
pole with the hermit's head upon it. 
Gypsies. Ay! 

Cruz. As soon as you see the planets 
are out, in with you, and be busy with 
the ten commandments, under the 
sly, and Saint Martin asleep. D' ye 
hear ? 

Gypsies. Ay ! 

Cruz. Keep your lanterns open, 
and, if you see a goblin or a papagayo, 
take to your trampers. Vineyards and 
Dancing John is the word. Am I 
comprehended ? 
Gypsies. Ay! ay! 
Cruz. Away, then ! 
{Exeunt severally. Cruzado walks up 
the stage, and disappears among the 
trees. Enter Preciosa.) 
Free. How strangely gleams 
through the gigantic trees, 
The red light of the forge ! Wild, 

beckoning shadows 
Stalk through the forest, ever and 

anon 
Rising and bending with the flicker- 
ing flame, 
Then flitting into darkness! So with- 
in me 50 
Strange hopes and fears do beckon to 

each other, 
My brightest hopes giving dark fears 

a being 
As the light does the shadow. Woe 

is me! 
How still it is about me, and how 
lonely ! 

(Bartolome rushes in.) 
Bart. Ho! Preciosa! 
Free. O Bartolome ! 

Thou here ? 

Bart. Lo ! I am here. 
Free. Whence comest thou? 

Bart. From the rough ridges of the 
wild Sierra, 
From caverns in the rocks, from hun- 
ger, thirst, 
And fev3x! Like a wild wolf to the 

sheepfold 
Come I for thee, my lamb. 

Free. Oh, touch me not ! 60 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



61 



The Count of Lara's blood is on thy 

hands ! 
The Count of Lara's curse is on thy 

soul! 
Do not come near me ! Pray, begone 

from here ! 
Thou art in danger ! They have set a 

price 
Upon thy head ! 

Bart. Ay, and I've wandered long 
Among the mountains ; and for many 

days 
Have seen no human face, save the 

rough swineherd's. 
The wind and rain have been my sole 

companions. 
I shouted to them from the rocks thy 

name, 69 

And the loud echo sent it back to me, 
Till I grew mad. I could not stay 

from thee, 
And I am here! Betray me, if thou 

wilt. 
Prec. Betray thee ? I betray thee ? 
Bart. Preciosa ! 

I come for thee ! for thee I thus brave 

death ! 
Fly with me o'er the borders of this 

realm ! 
Fly with me ! 
Prec. Speak of that no more. I 

cannot. 
I 'm thine no longer. 

Bart. Oh, recall the time 

When we were children! how we 

played together, 
How we grew up together; how we 

plighted 
Our hearts unto each other, even in 

childhood ! 80 

Fulfil thy promise, for the hour has 

come. 
I 'm hunted from the kingdom, like a 

wolf! 
Fulfil thy promise. 

Prec. 'T was my father's promise, 
Not mine. I never gave my heart to 

thee, 
Nor promised thee my hand ! 

Bart. False tongue of woman ! 

And heart more false ! 

Prec. Najr, listen unto me. 

I will speak frankly. I. have never 

loved thee ; 
I cannot love thee. This is not my 

fault, 



It is my destiny. Thou art a man 
Restless and violent. What wouldst 

thou with me, 90 

A feeble girl, who have not long to 

live, 
Whose heart is broken ? Seek another 

wife, 
Better than I, and fairer ; and let not 
Thy rash and headlong moods estrange 

her from thee. 
Thou art unhappy in this hopeless 

passion. 
I never sought thy love ; never did 

aught 
To make thee love me. Yet I pity 

thee, 
And most of all I pity thy wild heart, 
That hurries thee to crimes and deeds 

of blood. 100 

Beware, beware of that. 

Bart. For thy dear sake 

I will be gentle. Thou shalt teach me 

patience. 
Prec. Then take this farewell, and 

depart in peace. 
Thou must not linger here. 
Bart. Come, come with me. 

Prec. Hark ! I hear footsteps. 
Bart. I entreat thee, come ! 

Prec. Away ! It is in vain. 
Bart. Wilt thou not come ? 

Prec. Never ! 
Bart. Then woe, eternal woe, upon 

thee ! 
Thou shalt not be another's. Thou 

shalt die. [Exit. 

Prec. All holy angels keep me in 

this hour f 
Spirit of her who bore me, look upon 

me ! „o 

Mother of God, the glorified, protect 

me ! 
Christ and the saints, be merciful unto 

me ! 
Yet why should I fear death ? What 

is it to die ? 
To leave all disappointment, care, and 

sorrow, 
To leave all falsehood, treachery, and 

unkindness, 
All ignominy, suffering, and despair, 
And be at rest forever ! O dull heart, 
Be of good cheer ! When thou shalt 

cease to beat, 
Then shalt thou cease to suffer and 

complain ! 



62 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



{Enter Victorian and Hypolito be- 
hind.) 
Vict. 'T is she! Behold, how beau- 
tiful she stands 120 
Under the tent-like trees ! 
Hyp. A woodland nymph ! 
Vict. I pray thee, stand aside. 

Leave me. 
Hyp. Be wary. 

Do not betray thyself too soon. 

Vict, {disguising Ms voice). Hist ! 

Gypsy ! 
Prec. {aside, with emotion). That 
voice ! that voice from heaven ! 
Oh, speak again ! 
Who is it calls ? 

Vict. A friend. 

Free, {aside). 'T is he ! 'T is he ! 
I thank thee, Heaven, that thou hast 

heard my prayer, 
And sent me this protector ! Now be 

strong, 
Be strong, my heart! I must dissem- 
ble here. 
False friend or true ? 

Vict. A true friend to the true ; 

Fear not ; come hither. So ; can you 

tell fortunes ? 130 

Prec. Not in the dark. Come nearer 

to the fire. 

Give me your hand. It is not crossed, 

I see. 

Vict, {putting a piece of gold into 

her hand). There is the cross. 
Prec. Is't silver? 

Vict. No, 't is gold. 

Prec. There's a fair lady at the 
Court, who loves you, 
And for yourself alone. 

Vict. Fie ! the old story ! 

Tell me a better fortune for my money ; 
Not this old woman's tale! 

Prec. You are passionate ; 

And this same passionate humor in 

your blood 
Has marred your fortune. Yes ; I see 

it now ; 
The line of life is crossed by many 
marks. 140 

Shame ! shame ! Oh, you have 
wronged the maid who loved 
you! 
How could you do it ? 

Vict. I never loved a maid ; 

For she I loved was then a maid no 
more. 



Prec. How know you that ? 
Vict. A little bird in the air 

Whispered the secret. 

Prec. There, take back your gold ! 
Your hand is cold, like a deceiver's 

hand ! 
There is no blessing in its charity ! 
Make her your wife, for you have been 

abused ; 

And you shall mend your fortunes, 

mending hers. 149 

Vict, {aside). How like an angel's 

speaks the tongue of woman, 

When pleading in another's cause her 

own! 
That is a pretty ring upon your finger. 
Pray give it me. {Tries to take the 
ring.) 
Prec. No ; never from my hand 

Shall that be taken ! 

Vict. Why, 't is but a ring. 

I '11 give it back to you ; or, if I keep it, 

Will give you gold to buy you twenty 

such. 

Prec. Why would you have this 

ring ? 
Vict. A traveller's fancy, 

A whim, and nothing more. I would 

fain keep it 
As a memento of the Gypsy camp 
In Guadarrama, and the fortune-teller 
Who sent me back to wed a widowed 
maid. 161 

Pray, let me have the ring. 

Prec. No, never! never ! 

I will not part with it, even when I 

die ; 
But bid my nurse fold my pale fingers 

thus, 
That it may not fall from them. 'T is 

a token 
Of a beloved friend, who is no more. 
Vict. How ? dead ? 

Prec. Yes ; dead to me ; and worse 
than dead. 
He is estranged ! And yet I keep 

this ring. 
I will rise with it from my grave here- 
after, 169 
To prove to him that I was never false. 
Vict, {aside). Be still, my swelling 
heart ! one moment, still ! 
Why, 't is the folly of a love-sick girl. 
Come, give it me, or I will say 't is 

mine, 
And that you stole it. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



63 



Prec. Oh, you will npt dare 

To utter such a falsehood ! 

Vict. I not dare ? 

Look in my face, and say if there is 

aught 
I have not dared, I would not dare, for 
thee ! 

(She rushes into Ms arms.) 
Prec. *T is thou ! 'T is thou ! Yes; 
yes ; my heart's elected ! 
My dearest-dear Victorian 1 my soul's 

heaven ! 
Where hast thou been so long ? Why 
didst thou leave me ? 180 

Vict. Ask me not now, my dearest 
Preciosa. 
Let me forget we ever have been 
parted ! 
Prec. Hadst thou not come — 
Vict. I pray thee, do not chide me ! 
Prec. I should have perished here 

among these Gypsies. 
Vict. Forgive me, sweet! for what 
I made thee suffer. 
Think'st thou this heart could feel a 

moment's joy, 
Thou being absent ? Oh, believe it not ! 
Indeed, since that sad hour I have not 

slept, ' 
For thinking of the wrong I did to 

thee! 

Dost thou forgive me ? Say, wilt 

thou forgive me ? 190 

Prec. I have forgiven thee. Ere 

those words of anger 

Were in the book of Heaven writ 

down against thee, 
I had forgiven thee. 

Vict. I 'in the veriest fool 

That walks the earth, to have believed 

thee false. 
It was the Count of Lara — 

Prec. That bad man 

Has worked me harm enough. Hast 

' thou not heard — 

Vict. I have heard all. And yet 

speak on, speak on ! 

Let me but hear thy voice, and I am 

happy ; 
For every tone, like some sweet incan- 
tation, 
Calls up the buried past to plead for 
me. 200 

Speak, my beloved, speak into my 

heart, 
Whatever fills and agitates thine own. 



(They walk aside.) 
Hyp. All gentler quarrels in the 
pastoral poets, 
All passionate love-scenes in the best 

romances, 
All chaste embraces on the public 

stage, 
All soft adventures, which the liberal 

stars 
Have winked at, as the natural course 

of things, 
Have been surpassed here by my 

friend, the student, 
And this sweet Gypsy lass, fair Pre- 
ciosa ! 
Prec. Senor Hypolito ! I kiss your 
hand. 210 

Pray, shall I tell your fortune ? 

Hyp. Not to-night; 

For, should you treat me as you did 

Victorian, 
And send me back to marry maids for- 
lorn, 
My wedding day wouldlast from now 
till Christmas. 
Chispa (within). What ho ! the 
Gypsies, ho ! Beltran Cruzado! 
Halloo 1 halloo ! halloo ! halloo ! 
(Enters booted, with a whip and lan- 
tern.) 
Vict. What now 1 

Why such a fearful din ? Hast thou 
been robbed ? 
Chispa. Ay, robbed and murdered ; 
and good evening to you, 
My worthy masters. 

Vict. Speak ; what brings thee here ? 
Chispa (to Preciosa). Good news 
from Court ; good news ! Bel- 
tran Cruzado, 220 
The Count of the Cales, is not your 

father, 
But your true father has returned to 

Spain 
Laden with wealth. You are no more 
a Gypsy. 
Vict. Strange as a Moorish tale ! 
Chispa. And we have all 

Been drinking at the tavern to your 

health, 
As wells drink in November, when it 
rains. 
Vict. Where is the gentleman ? 
Chispa. As the old song says, 

His body is in Segovia, 
His soul is in Madrid. 



6 4 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



Prec. Is this a dream ? Oh, if it be 

a dream, 230 

Let me sleep on, and do not wake me 

yet! 
Repeat thy story! Say I'm not de- 
ceived ! 
Say that I do not dream ! I am awake ; 
This is the Gypsy camp ; this is Victo- 
rian, 
And this his friend, Hypolito ! Speak ! 

speak! 
Let me not wake and find it all a 

dream ! 
Vict. It is a dream, sweet child! a 

waking dream, 
A blissful certainty, a vision bright 
Of that rare happiness, which even on 

earth 
Heaven gives to those it loves. Now 

art thou rich, 240 

As thou wast ever beautiful and 

good ; 
And I am now the beggar. 
Prec. (giving him her hand). I have 

still 
A hand to give. 

Chispa (aside). And I have two to 

ta)~e. 
I've he? rd my grandmother say, that 

T ^aven gives almonds 
To thos.3 who have no teeth. That 's 

nuts to crack. 
I've teeth to spare, but where shall I 

find almonds ? 
Vict. What more of this strange 

story ? 
Chispa. Nothing more. 

Your friend, Don Carlos, is now at the 

village 
Showing to Pedro Crespo, the alcalde, 
The proofs of what I tell you. The 

old hag, 250 

Who stole you in your childhood, has 

confessed ; 
And probably they'll hang her for the 

crime, 
To make the celebration more com- 
plete. 
Vict. No ; let it be a day of general 

jcfy ; 
Fortune comes well to all, that comes 

not late. 
Now let us join Don Carlos. 

Hyp. So farewell, 

The student's wandering life ! Sweet 

serenades, 



Sung under ladies' windows in the 

night, 
And all that makes vacation beauti- 
ful ! 
To you, ye cloistered shades of Alcala, 
To you, ye radiant visions of romance, 
Written in books, but here surpassed 
by truth, 262 

The Bachelor Hypolito returns, 
And leaves the Gypsy with the Span- 
ish Student. 

Scene YI. — A pass in the Guadar- 
rarna mountains. Early morning. 
A muleteer crosses the stage, sitting 
sideways on his mule, and lighting a 
paper cigar with flint and steel. 

SONG 

If thou art sleeping, maiden, 

Awake and open thy door, 
'Tis the break of day^ and we must away 

O'er meadow, and mount, and moor. 

Wait not to find thy slippers, 
But come with thy naked feet ; 

We shall have to pass through the dewy 
grass, 
And waters wide and fleet. 

(Disappears down the pass. Enter a 

Monk. A Shepherd appears on the 

rocks above.) 

Monk. Ave Maria, gratia plena. 
Ola ! good man ! 10 

Shep. Ola ! 

Monk. Is this the road to Segovia ? 

Shep. It is, your reverence. 

Monk. How* far is it ? 

Shep. I do not know. 

Monk. What is that yonder in the 
valley ? 

Shep. San Ildefonso. 

Monk. A long way to breakfast. 

Shep. Ay, marry. 20 

Monk. Are there robbers in these 
mountains ? 

Shep. Yes, and worse than that. 

Monk. What? 

Shep. Wolves. 

Monk. Santa Maria! Come with me 
to San Ildefonso, and thou shalt be 
well rewarded. 

Shep. What wilt thou give me ? 

Monk. An Agnus Dei and my bene- 
diction. 30 
(They disappear. A mounted Contra*- 

bandista passes, wrapped in his cloak, 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



65 



and a gun at his saddle-bow. 
goes down the vms singing.) 



He 



SONG 

Worn with speed is ray good steed, 
And I march me hurried, worried; 
Onward, caballito mio, 
With the white star in thy forehead ! 
Onward, for here comes the Ronda, 
And I hear their rifles crack! 



Ay, jaleo! 
Ay, jaleo ! 



& 



ay, jaleo! 
ey cross our track. 



{Song dies away. Enter Preciosa, on 
horseback, attended by Victorian, 
Hypolito, Don Carlos, and 
Chispa, on foot and ovrmed.) 



Vict. And in the vale below, 

Where yonder steeples flash like lifted 

halberds, 
San Ildefonso, from its noisy belfries, 
Sends up a salutation to the morn, 
As if an army smote their brazen 

shields, 
And shouted victory ! 

Free. And which way lies 

Segovia, ? 

Vict. At a great distance yonder. 50 
Dost thou not see it ? 

Prec. No. I do not see it. 

Vict. The merest flaw that dents the 
horizon's edge, 
There, yonder ! 




Death of Bartolome" 



Vict. This is the highest point. 
Here let us rest. 
See, Preciosa, see how all about us 40 
Kneeling, like hooded friars, the misty 

mountains 
Eeceive the benediction of the sun ! 
O glorious sight ! 
Prec. Most beautiful indeed ! 

Most wonderful ! 



'T is a notable old town, 
Boasting an ancient Roman aqueduct, 
And an Alcazar, builded by the Moors, 
Wherein, you may remember, poor 

Gil Bias 
Was fed on Pan del Bey. Oh, many 

a time 
Out of its grated windows have I 

looked 



66 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



Hundreds of feet plumb down to the 
Eresma, 

That, like a serpent through the valley- 
creeping, 60 

Glides at its foot. 
Prec. Oh yes ! I see it now, 

Yet rather with my heart than with 
mine eyes, 

So faint it is. And all my thoughts 
sail thither, 

Freighted with prayers and hopes, and 
forward urged 

Against all stress of accident, as in 

The Eastern Tale, against the wind 
and tide 

Great ships were drawn to the Mag- 
netic Mountains, 

And there were wrecked, and perished 
in the sea ! (She weeps.) 
Vict. O gentle spirit! Thou didst 
bear unmoved 69 

Blasts of adversity and frosts of 
fate! 

But the first ray of sunshine that falls 
on thee 

Melts thee to tears ! Oh, let thy weary 
heart 

Lean upon mine ! and it shall faint no 
more, 

Nor thirst, nor hunger ; but be com- 
forted 

And filled with my affection. 
Prec. Stay no longer ! 

My father waits. Methinks I see him 
there, 

Now looking from the window, and 
now watching 



Each sound of wheels or footfall in 

the street, 
And saying, ' ' Hark ! she comes ! " O 

father ! father ! 79 

(They descend the pass. Chispa remains 
behind.) 
Chispa. I have a father, too, but he 
is a dead one. Alas and alack-a-day ! 
Poor was I born, and poor do I re- 
main. I neither win nor lose. Thus 
I wag through the world, half the 
time on foot, and the other half walk- 
ing ; and always as merry as a thun- 
der-storm in the night. And so we 
plough along, as the fly said to the ox. 
Who knows what may happen ? Pa- 
tience, and shuffle the cards ! I am 
not yet so bald that you can see my 
brains ; and perhaps, after all, I shall 
some day go to Rome, and come back 
Saint Peter. Benedicite ! [Exit. 

(A pause. Then enter Baktolom^ 
wildly, as if in pursuit, with a car- 
bine, in his hand.) 
Bart. They passed this way. I 

hear their horses' hoofs ! 
Yonder I see them ! Come, sweet ca- 

ramillo, 
This serenade shall be the Gypsy's 

last ! 
(Fires down the pass.) 
Ha! ha! Well whistled, my sweet 

caramillo ! 
Well whistled ! — I have missed her I 

— O my God! 
(The shot is returned. Bartolome 
falls.) 




" Stands the belfry old and brown" 

THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 

AND OTHER POEMS 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 

CABILLON 

In the ancient town of Bruges, 
In the quaint old Flemish city, 
As the evening shades descended, 
Low and loud and sweetly blended, 
Low at times and loud at times, 
And changing like a poet's rhymes, 
Rang the beautiful wild chimes 
From (he Belfry in the market 
Of the ancient town of Bruges. 

Then, with deep sonorous clangor 10 
Calmly answering their sweet anger, 
When the wrangling bells had ended, 



Slowly struck the clock eleven, 
And, from out the silent heaven, 
Silence on the town descended. 
Silence, silence everywhere, 
On the earth and in the air, 
Save that footsteps here and there 
Of some burgher home returning, 
By the street lamps faintly burn, 
ing, 20 

For a moment woke the echoes 
Of the ancient town of Bruges. 

But amid my broken slumbers 
Still I heard those magic numbers, 
As they loud proclaimed the flight 
And stolen marches of the night ; 



68 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES AND OTHER POEMS 



Till their chimes in sweet collision 
Mingled with each wandering vision, 
Mingled with the fortune-telling 
Gypsy-bands of dreams and fancies, 30 
Which amid the waste expanses 
Of the silent land of trances 
Have their solitary dwelling ; 
All else seemed asleep in Bruges, 
In the quaint old Flemish city. 

And I thought how like these chimes 
Are the poet's airy rhymes, 
All his rhymes and roundelays, 
His conceits, and songs, and ditties, 
From the belfry of his brain, 40 

Scattered downward, though in vain, 
On the roofs and stones of cities ! 
For by night the drowsy ear 
Under its curtains cannot hear, 
And by day men go their ways, 
Hearing the music as they pass, 
But deeming it no more, alas ! 
Than the hollow sound of brass. 

Yet perchance a sleepless wight, 

Lodging at some humble inn 50 

In the narrow lanes of life, 

When the dusk and hush of night 

Shut out the incessant din 

Of daylight and its toil and strife, 

May listen with a calm delight 

To the poet's melodies, 

Till he hears, or dreams he hears, 

Intermingled with the song, 

Thoughts that he has cherished long ; 

Hears amid the chime and singing 60 

The bells of his own village ringing, 

And wakes, and finds his slumberous 

eyes 
Wet with most delicious tears. 

Thus dreamed I, as by night I lay 
In Bruges, at the Fleur-de-Ble, 
Listening with a wild delight 
To the chimes that, through the night, 
Rang their changes from the Belfry 
Of that quaint old Flemish city. 



THE BELFRY OP BRUGES 

In the market-place of Bruges stands 
the belfry old and brown ; 70 

Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, 
still it watches o'er the town. 



As the summer morn was breaking, 
on that lofty tower I stood, 

And the world threw off the darkness, 
like the weeds of widowhood. 

Thick with towns and hamlets studded, 

and with streams and vapors 

gray, 
Like a shield embossed with silver, 

round and vast the landscape 

lay. 

At my feet the city slumbered. From 
its chimneys, here and there, 

Wreaths of snow-white smoke, as- 
cending, vanished, ghost-like, 
into air. 

Not a sound rose from the city at that 

early morning hour, 
But I heard a heart of iron beating in 

the ancient tower. 

From their nests beneath the rafters 
sang the swallows wild and 
high ; 80 

And the world, beneath me sleeping, 
seemed more distant than the 
sky. 

Then most musical and solemn, bring- 
ing back the olden times, 

With their strange, unearthly changes 
rang the melancholy chimes, 

Like the psalms from some old cloister, 
when the nuns sing in the choir ; 

And the great bell tolled among them, 
like the chanting of a friar. 

Yisions of the days departed, shadowy 
phantoms filled my brain ; 

They who live in history only seemed 
to walk the earth again ; 

All the Foresters of Flanders, — 
mighty Baldwin Bras de Fer, 

Lyderick du Bucq and Cressy, Philip, 
Guy de Dampierre. 

I beheld the pageants splendid that 
adorned those days of old ; 90 

Stately dames, like queens attended, 
knights who bore the Fleece of 
Gold; 



A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE 



69 



Lombard and Venetian merchants with 

deep -laden argosies; 
Ministers from twenty nations ; more 

than royal pomp and ease. 

I beheld proud Maximilian, kneeling 
humbly on the ground ; 

I beheld the gentle Mary, hunting with 
her hawk and hound ; 

And her lighted bridal-chamber, where 
a duke slept with the queen, 

And the armed guard around them, 
and the sword unsheathed be- 
tween. 

1 beheld the Flemish weavers, with 
Namur and Juliers bold, 

Marching homeward from the bloody 
battle of the Spurs of Gold ; 

Saw the fight at Minnewater, saw the 
White Hoods moving west 100 

Saw great Artevelde victorious scale 
the Golden Dragon's nest. 

And again the whiskered Spaniard all 
the land with terror smote ; 

And again the wild alarum sounded 
from the tocsin's throat ; 

Till the bell of Ghent responded o'er 
lagoon and dike of sand, 

"lam Roland! I am Roland! there is 
victory in the land ! " 

Then the sound of drums aroused me. 

The awakened city's roar 
Chased the phantoms I had summoned 

back into their graves once 

more. 

Hours had passed away like minutes ; 

and, before I was aware, 
Lo ! the shadow of the belfry crossed 

the sun-illumined square. 



A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE 

This is the place. Stand still, my 
steed, 

Let me review the scene, 
And summon from the shadowy Past 

The forms that once have been. 



The Past and Present here unite 
Beneath Time's flowing tide, 

Like footprints hidden by a brook, 
But seen on either side. 

Here runs the highway to the town ; 

There the green lane descends, 10 
Through which I walked to church 
with thee, 

O gentlest of my friends ! 

The shadow of the linden-trees 

Lay moving on the grass ; 
Between them and the moving boughs, 

A shadow, thou didst pass. 

Thy dress was like the lilies, 
And thy heart as pure as they : 

One of God's holy messengers 
Did walk with me that day. 20 

I saw the branches of the trees 
Bend down thy touch to meet, 

The clover-blossoms in the grass 
Rise up to kiss thy feet. 

"Sleep, sleep to-day, tormenting 
cares, 

Of earth and folly born ! " 
Solemnly sang the village choir 

On that sweet Sabbath morn. 

Through the closed blinds the golden 
sun 

Poured in a dusty beam, 30 

Like the celestial ladder seen 

By Jacob in his dream. 

And ever and anon, the wind 
Sweet-scented with the hay, 

Turned o'er the hymn-book's fluttering 
leaves 
That on the window lay. 

Long was the good man's sermon, 
Yet it seemed not so to me ; 

For he spake of Ruth the beautiful, 
And still I thought of thee. 40 

Long was the prayer he uttered, 
Yet it seemed not so to me ; 

For in my heart I prayed with him, 
And still I thought of thee. 



7o THE BELFRY OF BRUGES AND OTHER POEMS 



But now, alas! the place seems 
changed ; 

Thou art no longer here : 
Part of the sunshine of the scene 

With thee did disappear. 

Though thoughts, deep-rooted in my 
heart, 

Like pine-trees dark and high, 50 
Subdue the light of noon, and breathe 

A low and ceaseless sigh ; 

This memory brightens o'er the past, 
As when the sun, concealed 

Behind some cloud that near us 
hangs, 
Shines on a distant field. 



THE ARSENAL AT SPRING- 
FIELD 

This is the Arsenal. From floor to 
ceiling, 
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished 
arms ; 
But from their silent pipes no anthem 
pealing 
Startles the villages with strange 
alarms. 

Ah ! what a sound will rise, how wild 
and dreary, 
When the death-angel touches those 
swift keys ! 
What loud lament and dismal Mis- 
erere 
Will mingle with their awful sym- 
phonies ! 

I hear even now the infinite fierce 
chorus, 
The cries of agony, the endless 
groan, 10 

Which, through the ages that have 
gone before us, 
In long reverberations reach our 
own. 

On helm and harness rings the Saxon 
hammer, 
Through Cimbric forest roars the 
Norseman's song, 
And loud, amid the universal clamor, 
O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar 
gong. 



I hear the Florentine, who from his 

palace 

Wheels out his battle-bell with 

dreadful din. 

And Aztec priests upon their teocallis 

Beat the wild war-drums made of 

serpent's skin ; 20 

The tumult of each sacked and burn- 
ing village ; 
The shout that every prayer for 
mercy drowns ; 
The soldiers' revels in the midst of 
pillage ; 
The wail of famine in beleaguered 
towns ; 

The bursting shell, the gateway 
wrenched asunder, 
The rattling musketry, the clashing 
blade ; 
And ever and anon, in tones of thun- 
der 
The diapason of the cannonade. 

Is it, O man, with such discordant 
noises, 
With such accursed instruments as 
these, 30 

Thou drown est Nature's sweet and 
kindly voices, 
And j arrest the celestial harmo- 
nies? 

Were half the power that fills the 
world with terror, 
Were half the wealth bestowed on 
camps and courts, 
Given to redeem the human mind 
from error, 
There were no need of arsenals or 
forts : 

The warrior's name would be a name 
abhorred ! 
And every nation, that should lift 
again 
Its hand against a brother, on its fore- 
head 
Would wear forevermore the curse 
of Cain ! 40 

Down the dark future, through long 
generations, 
The echoing sounds grow fainter 
and then cease ; 



NUREMBERG 



7i 



And like a bell, with solemn, sweet 
vibrations, 
I hear once more the voice of Christ 
say, " Peace 1" 

Peace ! and no longer from its brazen 
portals 
The blast of War's great organ 
shakes the skies ! 
But beautiful as songs of the immor- 
tals, 
The holy melodies of love arise. 



NUREMBERG 

In the valley of the Pegnitz, where 
across broad meadow -lands 

Rise the blue Franconian mountains, 
Nuremberg, the ancient, stands. 

Quaint old town of toil and traffic, 

quaint old town of art and 

song, 
Memories haunt thy pointed gables, 

like the rooks that round them 

throng : 

Memories of the Middle Ages, when 
the emperors, rough and bold, 

Had their dwelling in thy castle, 
time-defying, centuries old ; 

And thy brave and thrifty burghers 
boasted, in their uncouth rhyme, 

That their great imperial city stretched 
its hand through every clime. 

In the court-yard of the castle, bound 
with many an iron band, 

Stands the mighty linden planted by 
Queen Cunigunde's hand ; 10 

On the square the oriel window, 
where in old heroic days 

Sat the poet Melchior singing Kaiser 
Maximilian's praise. 

Everywhere I see around me rise the 
wondrous world of Art: 

Fountains wrought with richest sculp- 
ture standing in the common 
mart ; 

And above cathedral doorways saints 
and bishops carved in stone, 



By a former age commissioned as 
apostles to our own. 

In the church of sainted Sebald sleeps 
enshrined his holy dust, 

And in bronze the Twelve Apostles 
guard from age to age their 
trust ; 

In the church of sainted Lawrence 
stands a pyx of sculpture rare, 

Like the foamy sheaf of fountains, 
rising through the painted air. 20 

Here, when Art was still religion, wkh 
a simple, reverent heart, 

Lived and labored Albrecht Durer, the 
Evangelist of Art ; 

Hence in silence and in sorrow, toiling 

still with busy hand, 
Like an emigrant he wandered, seeking 

for the Better Land. 

Emigramt is the inscription on the 
tombstone where he lies ; 

Dead he is not, but departed, — for 
the artist never dies. 

Fairer seems the ancient city, and the 
sunshine seems more fair, 

That he once has trod its pavement, 
that he once has breathed its 
air! 

Through these streets so broad and 
stately, these obscure and dis- 
mal lanes, 

Walked of yore the Mastersingers, 
chanting rude poetic strains. 30 

From remote and sunless suburbs came 
they to the friendly guild, 

Building nests in Fame's great temple, 
as in spouts the swallows build. 

As the weaver plied the shuttle, wove 
he too the mystic rhyme, 

And the smith his iron measures ham- 
mered to the anvil's chime ; 

Thanking God, whose boundless wis- 
dom makes the flowers of poesy 
bloom 

In the forge's dust and cinders, in the 
tissues of the loom. 



72 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES AND OTHER POEMS 



Here Hans Sachs, the cobbler-poet, 
laureate of the gentle craft, 

"Wisest of the Twelve Wise Masters, 
in huge folios sang and laughed. 

But his house is now an ale-house, 
with a nicely sanded floor, 

And a garland in the window, and his 
face above the door ; 40 



Vanished is the ancient splendor, and 
before my dreamy eye 

Wave these mingled shapes and fig- 
ures, like a faded tapestry. 

Not thy Councils, not thy Kaisers, 
win for thee the world's regard ; 

But thy painter, Albrecht Diirer, and 
Hans Sachs thy cobbler bard. 




" In the church of sainted Lawrence stands a pyx of sculpture rare 



Painted by some humble artist, as in 
Adam Puschman's song, 

Astheold man gray and dove-like, with 
his great beard white and long. 



And 



the swart 
drown his 



mechanic 
cark and 



at night 
comes to 
care, 
Quaffing ale from pewter tankards, in 
the master's antique chair. 



Thus, O Nuremberg, a wanderer from 
a region far away, 

As he paced thy streets and court- 
yards, sang in thought his care- 
less lay : 50 

Gathering from the pavement's crev- 
ice, as a floweret of the soil, 

The nobility of labor, — the long pedi- 
gree of toil. 



RAIN IN SUMMER 



73 



THE NORMAN BARON 

Dans les moments de la vie oil la reflexion 
devient plus calme et plus profonde, ou 
l'interet et l'avarice parlentmoins haut que 
la raison, dans les instants de chagrin 
domestique, de maladie, et de peril de 
mort, les nobles se repentirent de posseder 
de's serfs, comme d'une chose peu agre'able 
a Dieu, qui avaitcre^ tous les homines a son 
image. — Conquete de V Angleterre. 

In his chamber, weak and dying, 
Was the Norman baron lying ; 
Loud, without, the tempest thundered, 
And the castle -turret shook. 

In this fight was Death the gainer, 
Spite of vassal and retainer, 
And the lands his sires had plundered, 
"Written in the Doomsday Book. 

By his bed a monk was seated, 
Who in humble voice repeated 10 

Many a prayer and paternoster, 
From the missal on his knee ; 

And, amid the tempest pealing, 
Sounds of bells came faintly stealing, 
Bells, that from the neighboring 
kloster 
Rang for the Nativity. 

In the hall, the serf and vassal 

Held, that night, their Christmas 

wassail ; 
Many a carol, old and saintly, 

Sang the minstrels, and the 

waits ; 20 

And so loud these Saxon gleemen 
Sang to slaves the songs of freemen, 
That the storm was heard but faintly, 
Knocking at the castle-gates. 

Till at length the lays they chanted 
Reached the chamber terror-haunted, 
Where the monk, with accents holy, 
Whispered at the baron's ear. 

Tears upon his eyelids glistened, 

As he paused awhile and listened, 30 

And the dying baron slowly 

Turned his weary head to hear. 

" Wassail for the kingly stranger 
Born and cradled in a manger! 



King, like David, priest, like Aaron, 
Christ is born to set us free ! " 

And the lightning showed the sainted 
Figures on the casement painted, 
And exclaimed the shuddering baron, 
' ' Miserere, Domine ! " 40 

In that hour of deep contrition 
He beheld, with clearer vision, 
Through all outward show and fash- 
ion, 
Justice, the Avenger, rise. 

All the pomp of earth had vanished, 
Falsehood and deceit were banished, 
Reason spake more loud than pas- 
sion, 
And the truth wore no disguise. 

Every vassal of his banner, 
Every serf born to his manor, 50 

All those wronged and wretched crea- 
tures, 
By his hand were freed again. 

And, as on the sacred missal 
He recorded their dismissal, 
Death relaxed his iron features, 

And the monk replied, " Amen ! " 

Many centuries have been numbered 
Since in death the baron slumbered 
By the convent's sculptured portal, 
Mingling with the common dust : 

But the good deed, through the ages 
Living in historic pages, 62 

Brighter grows and gleams immor- 
tal, 
Unconsumed by moth or rust. 



RAIN IN SUMMER 

How beautiful is the rain ! 

After the dust and heat, 

In the broad and fiery street, 

In the narrow lane, 

How beautiful is the rain ! 

How it clatters along the roofs, 
Like the tramp of hoofs ! 
How it gushes and struggles out 
From the throat of the overflowing 
spout ! 



74 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES AND OTHER POEMS 



Across the window-pane 10 

It pours and pours ; 

And swift and wide, 

With a muddy tide, 

Like a river down the gutter roars 

The rain, the welcome rain ! 

The sick man from his chamber looks 
At the twisted brooks ; 
He can feel the cool 
Breath of each little pool ; 
His fevered brain 20 

Grows calm again, 

And he breathes a blessing on the 
rain. 

From the neighboring school 

Come the boys, 

With more than their wonted noise 

And commotion ; 

And down the wet streets 

Sail their mimic fleets, 

Till the treacherous pool 

Ingulfs them in its whirling 30 

And turbulent ocean. 

In the country, on every side, 

Where far and wide, 

Like a leopard's tawny and spotted 

hide, 
Stretches the plain, 
To the dry grass and the drier grain 
How welcome is the rain ! 

In the furrowed land 

The toilsome and patient oxen stand ; 

Lifting the yoke-encumbered head, 40 

With their dilated nostrils spread, 

They silently inhale 

The clover-scented gale, 

And the vapors that arise 

From the well- watered and smoking 

soil. 
For this rest in the furrow after toil 
Their large and lustrous eyes 
Seem to thank the Lord, 
More than man's spoken word. 

Near at hand, so 

From under the sheltering trees, 

The farmer sees 

His pastures, and his fields of grain, 

As they bend their tops 

To the numberless beating drops 

Of the incessant rain. 

He counts it as no sin 



That he sees therein 

Only his own thrift and gain. 

These, and far more than these, 6c 

The Poet sees! 

He can behold 

Aquarius old 

Walking the fenceless fields of air ;' 

And from each ample fold 

Of the clouds about him rolled 

Scattering everywhere 

The showery rain, 

As the farmer scatters his grain. 

He can behold 70 

Things manifold 

That have not yet been wholly told, — 
Have not been wholly sung nor said. 
For his thought, that never stops, 
Follows the water-drops 
Down to the graves of the dead, 
Down through chasms and gulfs pro- 
found, 
To the dreary fountain-head 
Of lakes and rivers under ground ; 
And sees them, when the rain is 
done, 80 

On the bridge of colors seven 
Climbing up once more to heaven, 
Opposite the setting sun. 

Thus the Seer, 

With vision clear, 

Sees forms appear and disappear, 

In the perpetual round of strange, 

Mysterious change 

From birth to death, from death to 

birth, 
From earth to heaven, from heaven to 

earth ; 9° 

Till glimpses more sublime 
Of things unseen before, 
Unto his wondering eyes reveal 
The Universe, as an immeasurable 

wheel 
Turning forevermore 
In the rapid and rushing river of Time. 



TO A CHILD 

Dear child ! how radiant on thy mo- 
ther's knee, 

With merry-making eyes and jocund 
smiles, 

Thou gazest at the painted tiles, 



TO A CHILD 



75 



Whose figures grace, 

With many a grotesque form and face, 

The ancient chimney of thy nursery ! 

The lady with the gay macaw, 

The dancing girl, the grave bashaw 

With bearded lip and chin ; 

And, leaning idly o'er his gate, 10 

Beneath the imperial fan of state, 

The Chinese mandarin. 

With what a look of proud command 
Thou shakest in thy little hand 
The coral rattle with its silver bells, 
Making a merry tune ! 
Thousands of years in Indian seas 
That coral grew, by slow degrees, 
Until some deadly and wild monsoon 
Dashed it on Coromandel's sand I 20 
Those silver bells 
Reposed of yore, 
As shapeless ore, 

Far down in the deep-sunken wells 
Of darksome mines, 
In some obscure and sunless place, 
Beneath huge Chimborazo's base, 
Or Potosi's o'erhanging pines ! 
And thus for thee, O little child, 
Through many a danger and escape, 30 
The tall ships passed the stormy cape ; 
For thee in foreign lands remote, 
Beneath a burning, tropic clime, 
The Indian peasant, chasing the wild 

goat, 
Himself as swift and wild, 
In falling, clutched the frail arbute, 
The fibres of whose shallow root, 
Uplifted from the soil, betrayed 
The silver veins beneath it laid, 
The buried treasures of the miser, 

Time. 40 

But, lo! thy door is left ajar! 

Thou hearest footsteps from afan 

And, at the sound, 

Thou turnest round 

With quick and questioning eyes, 

Like one, who, in a foreign land, 

Beholds on every hand 

Some source of wonder and surprise ! 

And, restlessly, impatiently, 

Thou strivest, strugglest, to be free. 50 

The four walls of thy nursery 
Are now like prison walls to thee. 
No more thy mother's smiles, 
No more the painted tiles, 



Delight thee, nor the playthings on 
the floor, 

That won thy little, beating heart be- 
fore ; 

Thou strugglest for the open door. 

Through these once solitary halls 
Thy pattering footstep falls. 
The sound of thy merry voice 60 

Makes the old walls 
Jubilant, and they rejoice 
With the joy of thy young heart, 
O'er the light of whose gladness 
No shadows of sadness 
From the sombre background of mem- 
ory start. 

Once, ah, once, within these walls, 
One whom memory oft recalls, 
The Father of his Country, dwelt. 
And yonder meadows broad and 
damp 70 

The fires of the besieging camp 
Encircled with a burning belt. 
Up and down these echoing stairs, 
Heavy with the weight of cares, 
Sounded his majestic tread ; 
Yes, within this very room 
Sat he in those hours of gloom, 
Weary both in heart and head. 

But what are these grave thoughts to 

thee? 
Out, out ! into the open air ! 80 

Thy only dream is liberty, 
Thou carest little how or where. 
I see thee eager at thy play, 
Now shouting to the apples on the 

tree, 
With cheeks as round and red as 

they; 
And now among the yellow stalks, 
Among the flowering shrubs and 

plants, 
As restless as the bee. 
Along the garden walks, 
The tracks of thy small carriage - 

wheels I trace ; 90 

And see at every turn how they efface 
Whole villages of sand -roofed tents, 
That rise like golden domes 
Above the cavernous and secret homes 
Of wandering and nomadic tribes of 

ants. 
Ah, cruel little Tamerlane, 
Who, with thy dreadful reign, 



76 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES AND OTHER POEMS 



Dost persecute and overwhelm 
These hapless Troglodytes of thy 
realm ! 

What ! tired already ! with those sup- 
pliant looks, ioo 

And voice more beautiful than a 
poet's books 

Or murmuring sound of water as it 
flows, 

Thou comest back to parley with re- 
pose! 

This rustic seat in the old apple-tree, 

With its o'erhanging golden canopy 

Of leaves illuminate with autumnal 
hues, 

And shining with the argent light of 
dews, 

Shall for a season be our place of rest. 

Beneath us, like an oriole's pendent 
nest, 

From which the laughing birds have 
taken wing, no 

By thee abandoned, hangs thy vacant 
swing. 

Dream-like the waters of the river 
gleam ; 

A sailless vessel drops adown the 
stream, 

And like it, to a sea as wide and 
deep. 

Thou driftest gently down the tides of 
sleep. 

child ! O new-born denizen 
Of life's great city ! on thy head 
The glory of the morn is shed, 
Like a celestial benison ! 

Here at the portal thou dost stand, 120 
And with thy little hand 
Thou openest the mysterious gate 
Into the future's undiscovered land. 

1 see its valves expand, 
As at the touch of Fate ! 

Into those realms of love and hate, 
Into that darkness blank and drear, 
By some prophetic feeling taught, 
I launch the.bold, adventurous thought. 
Freighted with hope and fear ; 130 

As upon subterranean streams, 
In caverns unexplored and dark, 
Men sometimes launch a fragile bark, 
Laden with flickering fire, 
And watch its swift-receding beams, 
Until at length they disappear, 
And in the distant dark expire. 



By what astrology of fear or hope 

Dare I to cast thy horoscope ! 

Like the new moon thy life appears ; 140 

A little strip of silver light, 

And widening outward into night 

The shadowy disk of future years ; 

And yet upon its outer rim, 

A luminous circle, faint and dim, 

And scarcely visible to us here, 

Rounds and completes the perfect 

sphere ; 
A prophecy and intimation, 
A pale and feeble adumbration, 
Of the great world of light, that lies 150 
Behind all human destinies. 

Ah ! if thy fate, with anguish fraught, 
Should be to wet the dusty soil 
With the hot tears and sweat of toil, — 
To struggle with imperious thought, 
Until the overburdened brain, 
Weary with labor, faint with pain, 
Like a jarred pendulum, retain 
Only its motion, not its power, — 
Remember, in that perilous hour, 160 
When most afflicted and oppressed, 
From labor there shall come forth rest. 

And if a more auspicious fate 
On thy advancing steps await, 
Still let it ever be thy pride 
To linger by the laborer's side ; 
With words of sympathy or song 
To cheer the dreary march along 
Of the great army of the poor. 
O'er desert sand, o'er dangerous 

moor. 170 

Nor to thyself the task shall be 
Without reward ; for thou shalt learn 
The wisdom early to discern 
True beauty in utility ; 
As great Pythagoras of yore, 
Standing beside the blacksmith's door, 
And hearing the hammers, as they 

smote 
The anvils with a different note, 
Stole from the varying tones, that hung 
Vibrant on every iron tongue, 180 

The secret of the sounding wire, 
And formed the seven-chorded lyre. 

Enough ! I will not play the Seer ; 
I will no longer strive to ope 
The mystic volume, where appear 
The herald Hope, forerunning Fear, 
And Fear, the pursuivant of Hope. 



THE OCCULTATION OF ORION 



77 



Thy destiny remains untold ; 
For, like Acestes' shaft of old, 
The swift thought kindles as it flies, 
And burns to ashes in the skies. 



190 



THE OCCULTATION OF ORION 

I saw, as in a dream sublime, 
The balance in the hand of Time. 
O'er East and West its beam impended ; 
And Day, with all its hours of light, 
Was slowly sinking out of sight, 
While, opposite, the scale of Night 
Silently with the stars ascended. 



Where, chanting through his beard of 

snows, 
Majestic, mournful, Saturn goes, 
And down the sunless realms of space 
Reverberates the thunder of his bass. 

Beneath the sky's triumphal arch 
This music sounded like a march, 
And with its chorus seemed to be 
Preluding some great tragedy. 
Sirius was rising in the east ; 30 

And, slow ascending one by one, 
The kindling constellations shone. 
Begirt with many a blazing star, 
Stood the great giant Algebar, 




Forevermore, for evermore, 
The reign of violence is o'er ! 



Like the^astrologers of eld, 
In that bright vision I beheld 
Greater and deeper mysteries. 1 

I saw, with its celestial keys, 
Its chords of air, its frets of fire, 
The Saurian' s great iEolian lyre, 
Rising through all its sevenfold bars, 
From earth unto the fixed stars. 
And through the dewy atmosphere, 
Not only could I see, but hear, 
Its wondrous and harmonious strings, 
In sweet vibration, sphere by sphere, 
Fi l")ian's circle light and near, 2 
Onward to vaster and wider rings, 



Orion, hunter of the beast ! 
His swoid hung gleaming by his side, 
And, on his arm, the lion's hide 
Scattered across the midnight air 
The golden radiance of its hair. 



The moon was pallid, but not faint; 
And beautiful as some fair saint, 
Serenely moving On her way 
In hours of trial and dismay. 
As if she heard the voice of God, 
Unharmed with naked feet she trod 
Upon the hot and burning stars, 
As on the glowing coals and bars. 



40 



- 



78 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES AND OTHER POEMS 



r 



That were to prove her strength and 

try 
Her holiness and her purity. 

Thus moving on, with silent pace, 50 
And triumph in her sweet, pale face, 
She reached the station of Orion. 
Aghast he stood in strange alarm ! 
And suddenly from his outstretched 

arm 
Down fell the red skin of the lion 
Into the river at his feet. 
His mighty club no longer beat 
The forehead of the bull ; but he 
Reeled as of yore beside the sea, 
When, blinded by (Enopion, 60 

He sought the blacksmith at his forge, 
And, climbing up the mountain gorge, 
Fixed his blank eyes upon the sun. 

Then, through the silence overhead, 
An angel with a trumpet said, 
" Forever more, forevermore, 
The reign of violence is o'er ! " 
And, like an instrument that flings 
Its music on another's strings, 
The trumpet of the angel cast 70 

Upon the heavenly lyre its blast, 
And on from sphere to sphere the 

words 
Reechoed down the burning chords, — 
"Forevermore, forevermore, 
The reign of violence is o'er! " 

THE BRIDGE 

I stood on the bridge at midnight, 
As the clocks were striking the hour, 

And the moon rose o'er the city, 
Behind the dark church-tower. 

I saw her bright reflection 

In the waters under me, 
Like a golden goblet falling 

And sinking into the sea. 

And far in the hazy distance 

Of that lovely night in June, 10 

The blaze of the flaming furnace 
Gleamed redder than the moon. 

Among the long, black rafters 
The wavering shadows lay, 

And the current that came from the 
ocean 
Seemed to lift and bear them away ; 



As, sweeping and eddying through 
them, 

Rose the belated tide, 
And, streaming into the moonlight, 

The seaweed floated wide. 20 

And like those waters rushing 

Among the wooden piers, 
A flood of thoughts came o'er me 

That filled my eyes with tears. 

How often, oh, how often, 
In the days that had gone by, 

I had stood on that bridge at midnight 
And gazed on that wave and sky ! 

How often, oh, how often, 

I had wished that the ebbing tide 30 
Would bear me away on its bosom 

O'er the ocean wild and wide ! 

For my heart was hot and restless, 
And my life was full of care, 

And the burden laid upon me 
Seemed greater than I could bear. 

But now it has fallen from me, 

It is buried in the sea ; 
And only the sorrow of others 

Throws its shadow over me. 40 

Yet whenever I cross the river 
On its bridge with wooden piers, 

Like the odor of brine from the 
ocean 
Comes the thought of other years. 

And I think how many thousands 

Of care -encumbered men, 
Each bearing his burden of sorrow, 

Have crossed the bridge since then. 

I see the long procession 

Still passing to and fro, 50 

The young heart hot and restless, 

And the old subdued and slow ! 

And forever and forever, 

As long as the river flows, 
As long as the heart has passions, 

As long as life has woes ; 

The moon and its broken reflection 
And its shadows shall appear, 

As the symbol of love in heaven, 
And its wavering image here. 60 



THE DAY IS DONE 



79 



TO THE DRIVING CLOUD 

Gloomy and dark art thou, O chief of 
the mighty Omahas ; 

Gloomy and dark as the driving cloud, 
whose name thou hast taken ! 

Wrapped in thy scarlet blanket, I see 
thee stalk through the city's 

Narrow and populous streets, as once 
by the margin of rivers 

Stalked those birds unknown, that 
have left us only their foot- 
prints. 

What, in a few short years, will re- 
main of thy race but the foot- 
prints ? 

How canst thou walk these streets, 
who hast trod the green turf of 
the prairies ? 

How canst thou breathe this air, who 
hast breathed the sweet air of 
the mountains ? 

Ah ! 't is in vain that with lordly 
looks of disdain thou dost chal- 
lenge 

Looks of disdain in return, and ques- 
tion these walls and these pave- 
ments, 

Claiming the soil for thy hunting- 
grounds, while down-trodden 
millions 

Starve in the garrets of Europe, and 
cry from its caverns that they, 
too, 

Have been created heirs of the earth, 
and claim its division ! 

Back, then, back to thy woods in the 

regions west of the Wabash ! 
There as a monarch thou reignest. In 

autumn the leaves of the maple 
Pave the floors of thy palace-halls with 

gold, and in summer 
Pine-trees waft through its chambers 

the odorous breath of their 

branches. 
There thou art strong and great, a 

hero, a tamer of horses ! 
There thou chasest the stately stag on 

the banks of th" orn, 

Or by the roar of t -Water, 

or v 1 



C~u, 



: .ign the wild 
^rave of the Black- 



Hark ! what murmurs arise from the 

heart of those mountainous des- 
erts? 
Is it the cry of the Foxes and Crows, 

or the mighty Behemoth, 
Who, unharmed, on his tusks once 

caught the bolts of the thunder, 
And now lurks in his lair to destroy 

the race of the red man ? 
Far more fatal to thee and thy race 

than the Crows and the Foxes, 
Far more fatal to thee and thy race 

than the tread of Behemoth, 
Lo ! the big thunder-canoe, that stead- 
ily breasts the Missouri's 
Merciless current! and yonder, afar on 

the prairies, the camp-fires 
Gleam through the night; and the 

cloud of dust in the gray of the 

daybreak 
Marks not the buffalo's track, nor the 

Mandan's dexterous horse-race ; 
It is a caravan, whitening the desert 

where dwell the Camanches ! 
Ha ! how the breath of these Saxons 

and Celts, like the blast of the 

east-wind, 
Drifts evermore to the west the scanty 

smokes of thy wigwams ! 



SONGS 
THE DAY IS DONE 

The day is done, and the darkness 
Falls from the wings of Night, 

As a feather is wafted downward 
From an eagle in his flight. 

I see the lights of the village 

Gleam through the rain and the 
mist, 
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er 
me 
That my soul cannot resist : 

A feeling of sadness and longing, 
That is not akin to pain, 10 

And resembles sorrow only 
As the mist resembles the rain. 

Come, read to me some poem, 
Some simple and heartfelt lay, 

That shall soothe this restless feeling, 
And banish the thoughts of day. 



8o THE BELFRY OF BRUGES AND OTHER POEMS 



Not from the grand old masters, 


Slowly passes 


Not from the bards sublime, 


A funeral train. 


Whose distant footsteps echo 




Through the corridors of Time. 20 


The bell is pealing, 




And every feeling 


For, like strains of martial music, 


Within me responds 


Their mighty thoughts suggest 


To the dismal knell ; 


Life's endless toil and endeavor ; 




And to-night I long for rest. 


Shadows are trailing, 




My heart is bewailing 


Read from some humbler poet, 


And tolling within 


Whose songs gushed from his heart, 


Like a funeral bell. 


As showers from the clouds of summer, 




Or tears from the eyelids start ; 


TO AN OLD DANISH SONG 


Who, through long days of labor, 


BOOK 


And nights devoid of ease, 30 


Welcome, my old friend, 


Still heard in his soul the music 


Welcome to a foreign fireside, 


Of wonderful melodies. 


While the sullen gales of autumn 




Shake the windows. 


Such songs have power to quiet 




The restless pulse of care, 


The ungrateful world 


And come like the benediction 


Has, it seems, dealt harshly with thee, 


That follows after prayer. 


Since, beneath the skies of Denmark, 




First I met thee. 


Then read from the treasured volume 




The poem of thy choice, 


There are marks of age, 


And lend to the rhyme of the poet 


There are thumb-marks on thy margin, 


The beauty of thy voice. 40 


Made by hands that clasped thee 




rudely, n 


And the night shall be filled with 


At the alehouse. 


music, 
And the cares, that infest the day, 


Soiled and dull thou art; 


Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, 


Yellow are thy time-worn pages, 


And as silently steal away. 


As the russet, rain-molested 




Leaves of autumn. 


AFTERNOON IN FEBRUARY 


Thou art stained with wine 




Scattered from hilarious goblets, 


The day is ending, 


As the leaves with the libations 


The night is descending ; 


Of Olympus. 20 


The marsh is frozen, 




The river dead. 


Yet dost thou recall 




Days departed, half- forgotten, 


Through clouds like ashes 


When in dreamy youth I wandered 


The red sun flashes 


By the Baltic, — 


On village windows 




That glimmer red. 


When I paused to hear 




The old ballad of King Christian 


The snow recommences ; 


Shouted from suburban taverns 


The buried fences 


In the twilight. 


Mark no longer 




The road o'er the plain ; 


Thou recallest bards, 




Who, in solitary chambers, 30 


While through the meadows, 


And with hearts by passion wasted, 


Like fearful shadows, 


Wrote thy pages. 



WALTER VON DER VOGELWEID 



81 



Thou recallest homes 
Where thy songs of love and friend- 
ship 
Made the gloomy Northern winter 
Bright as summer. 

Once some ancient Scald, 
In his bleak, ancestral Iceland, 
Chanted staves of these old ballads 
To the Vikings. 40 

Once in Elsinore, 
At the court of old King Hamlet, 
Yorick and his boon companions 
Sang these ditties. 

Once Prince Frederick's Guard 
Sang them in their smoky barracks ; — 
Suddenly the English cannon 
Joined the chorus ! 

Peasants in the field, 
Sailors on the roaring ocean, 50 

Students, tradesmen, pale mechanics, 
All have sung them. 

Thou hast been their friend ; 
They, alas ! have left thee friend- 
less! 
Yet at least by one warm fireside 
Art thou welcome. 

And, as swallows build 
In these wide, old-fashioned chimneys, 
So thy twittering song shall nestle 
In my bosom, — 60 

Quiet, close, and warm, 
Sheltered from all molestation, 
And recalling by their voices 
Youth and travel. 



WALTER VON DER VOGEL- 
WEID 

Vogelweid the Minnesinger, 
When he left this world of ours, 

Laid his body in the cloister, 

Under Wiirtzburg's minster towers. 

And he gave the monks his treasures, 
Gave them all with this behest : 

They should feed the birds at noon- 
tide 
Daily on his place of rest ; 



Saying, " From these wandering min- 
strels 

I have learned the art of song; 10 
Let me now repay the lessons 

They have taught so well and long." 

Thus the bard of love departed ; 

And, fulfilling his desire, 
On his tomb the birds were feasted 

By the children of the choir. 

Day by day, o'er tower and turret, 
In foul weather and in fair, 

Day by day, in vaster numbers, 
Flocked the poets of the air. 20 

On the tree whose heavy branches 
Overshadowed all the place, 

On the pavement, on the tombstone, 
On the poet's sculptured face, 

On the cross-bars of each window, 

On the lintel of each door, 
They renewed the War of Wartburg, 

Which the bard had fought before. 

There they sang their merry carols, 
Sang their lauds on every side ; 30 

And the name their voices uttered 
Was the name of Vogelweid. 

Till at length the portly abbot 
Murmured, "Why this waste of 
food? 

Be it changed to loaves henceforward 
For our fasting brotherhood." 

Then in vain o'er tower and turret, 
From the walls and woodland nests, 

When the minster bells rang noontide, 
Gathered the unwelcome guest's. 40 

Then in vain, with cries discordant, 
Clamorous round the Gothic spire, 

Screamed the feathered Minnesingers 
For the children of the choir. 

Time has long effaced the inscriptions 
On the cloister's funeral stones, 

And tradition only tells us 
Where repose the poet's bones. 

But around the vast cathedral, 
By sweet echoes multiplied, 50 

Still the birds repeat the legend, 
And the name of Vogelweid, 



82 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES AND OTHER POEMS 



DRINKING SONG 

INSCRIPTION FOR AN ANTIQUE PITCHER 

Come, old friend ! sit down and listen ! 

From the pitcher, placed between us, 
How the waters laugh and glisten 

In the head of old Silenus! 

Old Silenus, bloated, drunken, 
Led by his inebriate Satyrs ; 

On his breast his head is sunken, 
Vacantly he leers and chatters. 

Fauns with youthful Bacchus follow ; 

Ivy crowns that brow supernal 10 
As the forehead of Apollo, 

And possessing youth eternal. 

Round about him, fair Bacchantes, 
Bearing cymbals, flutes, and 
thyrses, 

Wild from Naxian groves, or Zante's 
Vineyards, sing delirious verses. 

Thus he won, through all the nations, 
Bloodless victories, and the farmer 

Bore, as trophies and oblations, 
Vines for banners, ploughs for 
armor. 20 

Judged by no o'erzealous rigor, 
Much this mystic throng expresses : 

Bacchus was the type of vigor, 
And Silenus of excesses. 

These are ancient ethnic revels, 
Of a faith long since forsaken ; 

Now the Satyrs, changed to devils, 
Frighten mortals wine-o'ertaken. 

Now to rivulets from the mountains 
Point the rods of fortune-tellers ; 30 

Youth perpetual dwells in foun- 
tains, — 
Not in flasks, and casks, and cellars. 

Claudius, though he sang of flagons 
And huge tankards filled with Rhen- 
ish, 

From that fiery blood of dragons 
Never would his own replenish. 

Even Redi, though he chaunted 
Bacchus in the Tuscan valleys, 

Never drank the wine he vaunted 
In his dithyrambic sallies. 40 



Then with water fill the pitcher 
Wreathed about with classic fables ; 

Ne'er Falernian threw a richer 
Light upon Lucullus' tables. 

Come, old friend, sit down and listen ! 

As it passes thus between us, 
How its wavelets laugh and glisten 

In the head of old Silenus ! 



THE OLD CLOCK ON THE 
STAIRS 

L'&ernite' est une pendule dont le balan- 

cier dit et redit sans cesse ces deux mots 

seulement dans le silence des tombeaux ; 

" To u jours, jamais! Jamais, toujours! " 

Jacques Bridaine. 

Somewhat back from the village 

street 
Stands the old-fashioned country-seat. 
Across its antique portico 
Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw ; 
And from its station in the hall 
An ancient timepiece says to all, — 
' ' Forever — never ! 
Never — forever ! " 

Half-way up the stairs it stands, 
And points and beckons with its 
hands io 

From its case of massive oak, 
Like a monk, who, under his cloak, 
Crosses himself, and sighs, alas ! 
With sorrowful voice to all who 



' ' Forever — never ! 
Never — forever ! " 

By day its voice is low and light ; 
But in the silent dead of night, 
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall, 
It echoes along the vacant hall, 20 

Along the ceiling, along the floor, 
And seems to say, at each chamber- 
door, — 

' ' Forever — never ! 
Never — forever ! " 

Through days of sorrow and of mirth, 
Through days of death and days of 

birth, 
Through every swift vicissitude 
Of changeful time, unchanged it has 

stood, 



THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS 



83 



And as if, like God, it all 


things 


Even as a miser counts his gold, 


saw, 






Those hours the ancient timepiece 


It calmly repeats those words 


of 


told, — 


awe, — 




30 


" Forever — never ! 


' ' Forever — never ! 






Never — forever ! " 


Never — forever ! " 






From that chamber, clothed in white, 


In that mansion used to be 






The bride came forth on her wedding 


Free-hearted Hospitality ; 






night ; 50 



mWmwS. 




Then with water fill the pitcher 
Wreathed about with classic fables " 



His great fires up the chimney roared ; 
The stranger feasted at his board ; 
But, like the skeleton at the feast, 
That warning timepiece never 
ceased, — 

' ' Forever — never ! 
Never — forever!" 4 o 

There groups of merry children 

played, 
There youths and maidens dreaming 

strayed ; 
O precious hours ! O golden prime, 
And affluence of love and time ! 



There, in that silent room below, 
The dead lay in his shroud of snow ; 
And in the hush that followed the 

prayer, 
Was heard the old clock on the stair, — 
" Forever — never ! 
Never — forever!" 

All are scattered now and fled, 
Some are married, some are dead ; 
And when I ask, with throbs of 

pain, 
" Ah ! when shall they all meet 

again ? " 60 



84 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES AND OTHER POEMS 



As in the days long since gone by, 
The ancient timepiece makes reply, — 
" Forever — never ! 
Never — forever ! " 

Never here, forever there, 
Where all parting, pain, and care, 
And death, and time shall disap- 
pear, — 
Forever there, but never here ! 
The horologe of Eternity 
Sayeth this incessantly, — 7c 

' ' Forever — never ! 
Never — forever ! " 



THE ARROW AND THE SONG 

I shot an arrow into the air, 
It fell to earth, I knew not where ; 
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight 
Could not follow it in its flight. 

I breathed a song into the air, 
It fell to earth, I knew not where ; 
For who has sight so keen and strong, 
That it can follow the flight of song ? 

Long, long afterward, in an oak 
I found the arrow, still unbroke ; 
And the song, from beginning to 

end, 
I found again in the heart of a friend. 



SONNETS 

MEZZO CAMMIN 

Half of my life is gone, and I have 
let 

The years slip from me and have 
not fulfilled 

The aspiration of my youth, to 
build 

Some tower of song with lofty para- 
pet. 
Not indolence, nor pleasure, nor the 
fret 

Of restless passions that would not 
be stilled, 

But sorrow, and a care that almost 
killed, 

Kept me from what I may accom- 
plish yet ; 



Though, half-way up the hill, I see 
the Past 

Lying beneath me with its sounds 
and sights, — 

A city in the twilight dim and vast, 
With smoking roofs, soft bells, and 
gleaming lights, — 

And hear above me on the autumnal 
blast 

The cataract of Death far thunder- 
ing from the heights. 

THE EVENING STAR 

Lo ! in the painted oriel of the West, 

Whose panes the sunken sun incar- 
nadines, 

Like a fair lady at her casement, 
shines 

The evening star, the star of love 
and rest ! 
And then anon she doth herself divest 

Of all her radiant garments, and re- 
clines 

Behind the sombre screen of yonder 
pines, 

With slumber and soft dreams of 
love oppressed. 
O my belovM, my sweet Hesperus ! 

My morning and my evening star 
of love ! 

My best and gentlest lady ! even 
thus, 
As that fair planet in the sky above, 

Dost thou retire unto thy rest at 
night, 

And from thy darkened window 
fades the light. 

AUTUMN 

Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by 
the rain, 

With banners, by great gales inces- 
sant fanned, 

Brighter than brightest silks of Sa- 
marcand, 

And stately oxen harnessed to thy 
wain! 
Thou standest, like imperial Charle- 
magne, 

Upon thy bridge of gold ; thy royal 
hand 

Outstretched with benedictions o'er 
the land, 



CURFEW 



85 



Blessing the farms through all thy 


CURFEW 


vast domain ! 




Thy shield is the red harvest moon, 


1 


suspended 


Solemnly, mournfully, 


So long beneath the heaven's o'er- 


Dealing its dole, 


hanging eaves ; 


The Curfew Bell 


Thy steps are by the farmer's prayers 
attended ; 
Like flames upon an altar shine the 


Is beginning to toll. 


Cover the embers, 


sheaves ; 


And put out the light ; 


" And, following thee, in thy ovation 


Toil comes with the morning, 


splendid, 


And rest with the night. 


Thine almoner, the wind, scatters 




the golden leaves ! 


Dark grow the windows, 




And quenched is the fire ; 




Sound fades into silence, — 


DANTE 


All footsteps retire. 


Tuscan, that wanderest through the 


No voice in the chambers, 


realms of gloom, 


No sound in the hall ! 


With thoughtful pace, and sad, ma- 


Sleep and oblivion 


jestic eyes, 


Reign over all! 


Stern thoughts and awful from thy 




soul arise, 




Like Farinata from his fiery tomb. 


n 


Thy sacred song is like the trump of 


The book is completed, 


doom ; 


And closed, like the day ; 


Yet in thy heart what human sym- 


And the hand that has written it 


pathies, 


Lays it away. 


What soft compassion glows, as in 




the skies 


Dim grow its fancies ; 


The tender stars their clouded lamps 


Forgotten they lie ; 


relume ! 


Like coals in the ashes, 


Methinks I see thee stand with pallid 

pVippItq 


They darken and die. 


By Fra Hilario in his diocese, 


Song sinks into silence, 


As up the convent-walls, in golden 


The story is told, 


streaks, 


The windows are darkened, 


The ascending sunbeams mark the 


The hearth-stone is cold. 


day's decrease ; 




And, as he asks what there the 


Darker and darker 


stranger seeks, 


The black shadows fall ; 


Thy voice along the cloister whis- 


Sleep and oblivion 


• pers "Peace!" 


Reign over all. 



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" Long at her father's door Evangeline stood " 



EVANGELINE 

A TALE OF ACADIE 



This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, 
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, 
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, 
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. 
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean 
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. 

This is the forest primeval ; but where are the hearts that beneath it 
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman ? 



EVANGELINE 87 



Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers, — 
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands, 
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven ? 
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed ! 
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October 
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean. 
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre. 

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient, 
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion, 
List to the mournful tradition, still sung by the pines of the forest; 
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy. 



PART THE FIRST 



In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas, 20 

Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre 

Lay in the fruitful valley. Yast meadows stretched to the eastward, 

Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number. 

Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant, 

Shut out the turbulent tides ; but at stated seasons the flood-gates 

Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows. 

West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields 

Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain ; and away to the northward 

Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains 

Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic 30 

Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended. 

There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village. 

Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock, 

Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries. 

Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows ; and gables proj ecting 

Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway. 

There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset 

Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chimneys, 

Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles 

Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden 40 

Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors 

Mingled their sounds with the whir of the wheels and the songs of the maidens. 

Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the children 

Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless them. 

Reverend walked he among them ; and up rose matrons and maidens, 

Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome. 

Then came the laborers home from the field, and serenely the sun sank 

Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from the belfry 

Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the village 

Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense ascending, 50 

Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and contentment. 

Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers, — 



88 EVANGELINE 



Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from 
Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics. 
Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows ; 
But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts Of the owners ; 
There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance. 

Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the Basin of Minas, 
Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand-Pre, 
Dwelt on his goodly acres ; and with him, directing his household, 60 

Gentle Evangeline lived, his child and the pride of the village. 
Stalworth and stately in form was the man of seventy Winters ; 
Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered with snow-flakes ; 
White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as brown as the oak-leaves. 
Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen summers. 
Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the thorn by the wayside, 
Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown shade of her tresses ! 
Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that feed in the meadows.. 
When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at noontide 
Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah! fair in sooth was the maiden. 70 

Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell from its turret 
Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest with his hyssop 
Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings upon them, 
Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet of beads and her missal, 
Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue, and the ear-rings, 
Brought in the olden time from France, and since, as an heirloom, 
Handed down from mother to child, through long generations. 
But a celestial brightness — a more ethereal beauty — 
Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, after confession, 
Homeward serenely she walked with God's benediction upon her. 80 

When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music. 

Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the farmer 
Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea ; and a shady 
Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing around it. 
Kudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath ; and a footpath 
Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the meadow. 
Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a penthouse, 
Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by the roadside, 
Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of Mary. 
Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the well with its moss-grown 90 
Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the horses. 
Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were the barns and the farm- 
yard. 
There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the antique ploughs and the har 

rows; 
There were the folds for the sheep ; and there, in his feathered seraglio, 
Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with the selfsame 
Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent Peter. 
Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a village. In each one 
Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch ; and a staircase, 



EVANGELINE 



8a 




..." the children 
Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended : 



Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous corn-loft. 
There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and innocent inmates 
Murmuring ever of love ; while above in the variant breezes 
Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation. 

Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer of Grand-Pre 
Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his household. 
Many a youth, as he knelt in church and opened his missal, 
Fixed his eyes upon her as the saint of his deepest devotion ; 
Happy was he who might touch her hand or the hem of her garment! 



90 EVANGELINE 



Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness befriended, 

And, as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of her footsteps, 

Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the knocker of iron ; no 

Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the village, 

Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as he whispered 

Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the music. 

But, among all who came, young Gabriel only was welcome ; 

Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the blacksmith, 

Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored of all men; 

For, since the birth of time, throughout all ages and nations, 

Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the people. 

Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from earliest childhood 

Grew up together as brother and sister ; and Father Felician, 120 

Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught them their letters 

Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the church and the plain-song. 

But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson completed, 

Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the blacksmith. 

There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes to behold him 

Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a plaything, 

Nailing the shoe in its place ; while near him the tire of the cart-wheel 

Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of cinders. 

Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gathering darkness 

Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every cranny and crevice, 130 

Warm by the forge within they watched the laboring bellows, 

And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in the ashes, 

Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the chapel. 

Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the eagle, 

Down the hillside bounding, they glided away o'er the meadow. 

Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on the rafters, 

Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the swallow 

Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight of its fledglings ; 

Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the swallow! 

Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer were children. 140 

He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face of the morning, 

Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened thought into action. 

She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of a woman. 

" Sunshine of Saint Eulalie" was she called ; for that was the sunshine 

Which, as the farmers believed, would load their orchards with apples ; 

She, too, would bring to her husband's house delight and abundance, 

Filling it with love and the ruddy faces of children. 

11 

Now had the season returned, when the nights grow colder and longer, 

And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters. 

Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, from the ice-bound, 150 

Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical islands. 

Harvests were gathered in ; and wild with the winds of September 

Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old with the angel. 

All the signs foretold a winter long and inclement. 



EVANGELINE 



Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded their honey 

Till the hives overflowed ; and the Indian hunters asserted 

Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the foxes. 

Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that beautiful season, 

Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of All-Saints ! 

Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light ; and the landscape x6o 

Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood. 

Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless heart of the ocean 

Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in harmony blended. 

Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the farm yards, 

Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of pigeons, 

All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, and the great sun 

Looked with the eye of love through the golden vapors around him ; 

While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet and yellow, 

Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering tree of the forest 

Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned with mantles and jewels. 170 

Now recommenced the reign .of rest and affection and stillness. 
Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight descending 
Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the homestead. 
Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks on each other, 
And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness of evening. 
Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful heifer, 
Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that waved from her collar, 
Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human affection. 
Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the seaside, 
Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them followed the watch-dog, 180 
Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of his instinct, 
Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and superbly 
Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the stragglers ; 
Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept ; their protector, 
When from the forest at night, through the starry silence the wolves howled. 
Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from the marshes, 
Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its odor. 
Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes and their fetlocks, 
While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponderous saddles, 
Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels of crimson, 190 

Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with blossoms. 
Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their udders 
Unto the milkmaid's hand ; whilst loud and in regular cadence 
Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended. 
Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in the farm-yard, 
Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into stillness ; 
Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the barn-doors, 
Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was silent. 

In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, idly the farmer 
Sat in his elbow-chair and watched how the flames and the smoke-wreaths 200 
Struggled together like foes in a burning city. Behind him, 
Nodding and mocking along the wall, with gestures fantastic, 



92 EVANGELINE 



Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into darkness. 

Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his arm-chair 

Laughed in the flickering light ; and the pewter plates on the dresser 

Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies the sunshine. 

Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of Christmas, 

Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers before him 

Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Burgundian vineyards. 

Close at her father's side was the gentle Evangeline seated, 210 

Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the corner behind her. 

Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its diligent shuttle, 

While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the drone of a bagpipe, 

Followed the old man's song and united the fragments together. 

As in a church, when the chant of the choir at intervals ceases, 

Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the priest at the altar, 

So, in each pause of the song, with measured motion the clock clicked. 

Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, and, suddenly lifted, 
Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung back on its hinges. 
Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was Basil the blacksmith, 220 

And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who was with him. 
"Welcome! " the farmer exclaimed, as their footsteps paused on the threshold, 
" Welcome, Basil, my friend! Come, take thy place on the«ettle 
Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty without thee ; 
Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of tobacco ; 
Never so much thyself art thou as when through the curling 
Smoke of the pipe or the forge thy friendly and jovial face gleams 
Round and red as the harvest moon through the mist of the marshes." 
Then, with a smile of content, thus answered Basil the blacksmith, 
Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the fireside : — 230 

"Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy jest and thy ballad! 
Ever in cheerfullest mood art thou, when others are filled with 
Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before them. 
Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe." 
Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evangeline brought him, 
And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he slowly continued : — 
' ' Four days now are passed since the English ships at their anchors 
Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon pointed against us. 
What their design may be is unknown ; but all are commanded 
On the morrow to meet in the church, where his Majesty's mandate 240 

Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas ! in the mean time 
Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the people." 
Then made answer the farmer : "Perhaps some friendlier purpose 
Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the harvests in England 
By untimely rains or untimelier heat have been blighted, 
And from our bursting barns they would feed their cattle and children." 
"Not so thinketh the folk in the village," said, warmly, the blacksmith, 
Shaking his head, as in doubt ; then, heaving a sigh, he continued : — 
"Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Sejour, nor Port Royal. 
Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on its outskirts, 250 

Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of to-morrow. 



EVANGELINE 



93 



Arms have been taken from us, and warlike weapons of all kinds ; 

Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and the scythe of the mower." 

Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial farmer : — 

" Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks and our cornfields, 

Safer within these peaceful dikes, besieged by the ocean, 

Than our fathers in forts, besieged by the enemy's cannon. 

Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no shadow of sorrow 

Fall on this house and hearth ; for this is the night of the contract. 

Built are the house and the barn. The merry lads of the village 26c 

Strongly have built them and well; and, breaking the glebe round about them, 

Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food for a twelvemonth. 

Rene Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers and inkhorn. 

Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy of our children ?" 

As apart by the window she stood, with her hand in her lover's, 

Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her father had spoken, 

And, as they died on his lips, the worthy notary entered. 




•' The little village of Grand-Pre 
Lay in the fruitful valley " 



/ 



94 EVANGELINE 



Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean, 

Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary public ; 

Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the maize, hung 270 

Over his shoulders ; his forehead was high ; and glasses with horn bows 

Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom supernal. 

Father of twenty children was he, and more than a hundred 

Children's children rode on his knee, and heard his great watch tick. 

Four long years in the times of the war had he languished a captive, 

Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of the English. 

Now, though warier grown, without all guile or suspicion, 

Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and childlike. 

He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children ; 

For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest, 280 

And of the goblin that came in the night to water the horses, 

And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child who unchristened 

Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers of children ; 

And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable, 

And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in a nutshell, 

And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover and horseshoes, 

With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the village. 

Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the blacksmith, 

Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extending his right hand, 

"Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, "thou hast heard the talk in the village, 290 

And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships and their errand." 

Then with modest demeanor made answer the notary public, — 

"Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am never the wiser ; 

And what their errand may.be I know not better than others. 

Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil intention 

Brings them here, for we are at peace ; and why then molest us ? " 

"God's name ! " shouted the hasty and somewhat irascible blacksmith ; 

"Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, and the wherefore ? 

Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of the strongest ! " 

But without heeding his warmth, continued the notary public, — 300 

"Man is unjust, but God is just ; and finally justice 

Triumphs ; and well I remember a story, that often consoled me, 

When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port Royal." 

This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved to repeat it 

When his neighbors complained that any injustice was done them. 

" Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember, 

Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice 

Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its left hand, 

And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice presided 

Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of the people. 310 

Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of the balance, 

Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine above them. 

But in the course of time the laws of the land were corrupted ; 

Might took the place of right, and the weak were oppressed, and the mighty 

Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a nobleman's palace 



EVANGELINE 95 



That a necklace of pearls was lost, and erelong a suspicion 

Fell on an orphan girl who lived as a maid in the household. 

She, after form of trial condemned to die on the scaffold, 

Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of Justice. 

As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended, 320 

Lo! o'er the city a tempest rose; and the bolts of the thunder 

Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from its left hand 

Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of the balance, 

And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie, 

Into -whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven." 

Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, the blacksmith 

Stood like a man who fain would speak but findeth no language ; 

All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his face, as the vapors 

Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in the winter. 

Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the table, 330 

Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with home-brewed 
Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in the village of Grand-Pre ; 
While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and inkhorn, 
Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the parties, 
Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep and in cattle. 
Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well were completed, 
And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on the margin. 
Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the table 
Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver ; 

And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and the bridegroom, 34c 

Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their welfare. 
Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and departed, 
While in silence the others sat and mused by the fireside, 
Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its corner. 
Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men 
Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuvre, 
Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made in the king-row. 
Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure, 
Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding the moon rise 
Over the pallid sea, and the silvery mists of the meadows. 350 

Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, 
Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. 

Thus was the evening passed. Anon the bell from the belfry 
Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and straightway 
Rose the guests and departed ; and silence reigned in the household. 
Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the door-step 
Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with gladness. 
Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed on the hearth-stone, 
And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the farmer. 
Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline followed. 360 

Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the darkness, 
Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the maiden. 
Silent she passed the hall, and entered the door of her chamber. 






9 6 



EVANGELINE 



Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white, and its clothes-press 
Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were carefully folded 
Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline woven. 
This was the precious dower she would bring to her husband in marriage, 
Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her skill as a housewife. 
Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and radiant moonlight 
Streamed through the windows, and lighted the room, till the heart of the 
maiden 370 

Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides of the ocean. . 
Ah ! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she stood with 
Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of her chamber ! 
Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of the orchard, 




"blessing the bride and the bridegroom, 
Lifted aloft the tankard " 



EVANGELINE 



97 




" from the farms and neighboring hamlets 
Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peasants" 



Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of her lamp and her shadow. 

Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feeling of sadness 

Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds in. the moonlight 

Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for a moment. 

And, as she gazed from the window, she saw serenely the moon pass 

Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow her footsteps, 380 

As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered with Hagar ! 

IV 

Pleasantly rose next morn the sun on the village of Grand-Pre. 

Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin of Minas, 

Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, were riding at anchor. 

Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous labor 

Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates of the morning. 

Now from the country around, from the farms and neighboring hamlets, 

Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peasants. 

Many a glad good-morrow and jocund laugh from the young folk 

Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numerous meadows, 390 

Where ao path could be seen but the track of wheels in the greensward, 

Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed on the highway. 

Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor were silenced. 

Thronged were the streets with people ; and noisy groups at the house-doors 



98 EVANGELINE 



Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped together. 

Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted ; 

For with this simple people, who lived like brothers together, 

All things were held in common, and what one had was another's. 

Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed more abundant: 

For Evangeline stood among the guests of her father ; 400 

Bright was her face with smiles, and words of welcome and gladness 

Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup as she gave it. 

Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the orchard, 
Stript of its golden fruit, was spread the feast of betrothal. 
There in the shade of the porch were the priest and the notary seated • 
There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the blacksmith. 
Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-press and the beehives, 
Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gaj r est of hearts and of waistcoats. 
Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played on his snow-white 
Hair, as it waved in the wind ; and the jolly face of the fiddler 410 

Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown from the embers. 
Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his fiddle, 
Tous les Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Carillon de Dunquerque, 
And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the music. 
Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances 
Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows ; 
Old folk and young together, and children mingled among them. 
Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Benedict's daughter! 
Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the blacksmith ! 

So passed the morning away. And lo ! with a summons sonorous 420 

Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a drum beat. 
Thronged erelong was the church with men. Without, in the churchyard. 
Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the head- 
stones 
Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest. 
Then came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly among them 
Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangor 
Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceiling and casement, — 
Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal 
Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers. 
Then uprose their commander, and spake from the steps of the altar, 430 

Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal commission. 
" You are convened this day," he said, "by his Majesty's orders. 
Clement and kind has he been ; but how you have answered his kindness, 
Let your own hearts reply 1 To my natural make and my temper 
Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be grievous. 
Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our monarch ; , 
Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all kinds 
Forfeited be to the crown ; and that you yourselves from this province 
Be transported to other lands. God grant you may dwell there 
Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people! 440 

Prisoners now I declare you ; for such is his Majesty's pleasure ' " 
As, when the air is serene in sultry solstice of summe 



EVANGELINE 99 



Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the hailstones 

Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and shatters his windows, 

Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch from the house-roofs, 

Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their enclosures ; 

So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the speaker. 

Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, and then rose 

Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger, 

And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the door-way. 45c 

Vain was the hope of escape ; and cries and fierce imprecations 

Rang through the house of prayer ; and high o'er the heads of the others 

Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the blacksmith, 

As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows. 

Flushed was his face and distorted with passion ; and wildly he shouted, — 

" Down with the tyrants of England ! we never have sworn them allegiance ! 

Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and our harvests! " 

More he fain would have said, but the merciless hand of a soldier 

Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to the pavement. 

In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention, 4 6c 

Lo! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician 
Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of the altar. 
Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed into silence 
All that clamorous throng ; and thus he spake to his people ; 
Deep were his tones and solemn ; in accents measured and mournful 
Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the clock strikes. 
"What is this that ye do, my children ? what madness has seized you ? 
Forty years of my life have I labored among you, and taught you, 
Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another ! 

Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and privations? 47c 

Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and forgiveness ? 
This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you profane it 
Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with hatred ? 
Lo! where the crucified Christ from his cross is gazing upon you! 
See ! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy compassion ! 
Hark! how those lips still repeat the prayer, ' O Father, forgive them! ' 
Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked assail us, 
Let us repeat it now, and say, ' O Father, forgive them ! ' " 
Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of his people 
Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the passionate outbreak, 4 8c 

While they repeated his prayer, and said, " O Father, forgive them !" 

Then came the evening service. The tapers gleamed from the altar. 
Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, and the people responded, 
Not with their lips alone, but their hearts ; and the Ave Maria 
Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their souls, with devotion translated. 
Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascending to heaven. 

Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings of ill, and on all sides 
Wandered, wailing, from house to house the women and children. 
Long at her father's door Evangeline stood, with her right hand 



ioo EVANGELINE 



Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the sun, that, descending, 490 

Lighted the village street with mysterious splendor, and roofed each 

Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and emblazoned its windows. 

Long within had been spread the snow-white cloth on the table ; 

There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey fragrant with wild-flowers ; 

There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese fresh brought from the dairy, 

And, at the head of the board, the great arm-chair of the farmer. 

Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, as the sunset 

Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad ambrosial meadows. 

Ah! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had fallen, 

And from the fields of her soul a fragrance celestial ascended, — 500 

Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, and patience ! 

Then, all-forgetful of self, she wandered into the village, 

Cheering with looks and words the mournful hearts of the women, 

As o'er the darkening fields with lingering steps they departed, 

Urged, by their household cares, and the weary feet of their children. 

Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors 

Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending from Sinai. 

Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus sounded. 

Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church Evangeline lingered. 
All was silent within ; and in vain at the door and the windows 510 

Stood she, and listened and looked, till, overcome by emotion, 
" Gabriel ! " cried she aloud with tremulous voice ; but no answer 
Came from the graves of the dead, nor the gloomier grave of the living. 
Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless house of her father. 
Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the board was the supper untasted, 
Empty and drear was each room, and haunted with phantoms of terror. 
Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor of her chamber. 
In the dead of the night she heard the disconsolate rain fall 
Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore-tree by the window. 
Keenly the lightning flashed ; and the voice of the echoing thunder 520 

Told her that God was in heaven, and governed the world he created ! 
Then she remembered the tales he had heard of the justice of Heaven; 
Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peacefully slumbered till morning. 



Four times the sun had risen and set ; and now on the fifth day 

Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farm-house. 

Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful procession, 

Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms the Acadian women, 

Driving in ponderous wains their household goods to the sea-shore, 

Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their dwellings, 

Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road and the woodland. 530 

Close at their sides their children ran, and urged on the oxen, 

While in their little hands they clasped some fragments of playthings. 

Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried ; and there on the sea-beach 
Piled in confusion lay the household goods of the peasants. 
All day long between the shore and the ships did the boats ply ; 



EVANGELINE 



101 



All day long the wains came laboring down from the village. 

Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to his setting, 

Echoed far o'er the fields came the roll of drums from the churchyard. 

Thither the women and children thronged. On a sudden the church-doors 

Opened, and forth came the guard, and marching in gloomy procession 540 

Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, Acadian farmers. 

Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their homes and their country, 

Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are weary and wayworn, 

So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants descended 

Down from the church to the shore, amid their wives and their daughters. 

Foremost the young men came ; and, raising together their voices, 

Sang with tremulous lips a chant of the Catholic Missions : — 

" Sacred heart of the Saviour! O inexhaustible fountain! 

Fill our hearts this day with strength and submission and patience ! " 

Then the old men, as they marched, and the women that stood by the wayside 

Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in the sunshine above them 551 

Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of spirits departed. 

Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited in silence, 
Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour of affliction, — 
Calmly and sadly she waited, until the procession approached her, 




Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his shoulder " 



io2 EVANGELINE 



And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with emotion. 

Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running to meet him, 

Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his shoulder, and whispered, — 

" Gabriel! be of good cheer! for if we love one another 

Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances may happen! " 560 

Smiling she spake these words ; then suddenly paused, for her father 

Saw she slowly advancing. Alas! how changed was his aspect ! 

Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fire from his eye, and his footstep 

Heavier seemed with the weight of the heavy heart in his bosom. 

But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his neck and embraced him, 

Speaking words of endearment where words of comfort availed not. 

Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that mournful procession. 

There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir of embarking. 
Busily plied the freighted boats ; and in the confusion 

Wives were torn from their husbands, and mothers, too late, saw their children 
Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest entreaties. 571 

So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel carried, 
While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood with her father. 
Half the task was not done when the sun went down, and the twilight 
Deepened and darkened around ; and in haste the refluent ocean 
Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the sand-beach 
Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and the slippery sea- weed. 
Farther back in the midst of the household goods and the wagons, 
Like to a gypsy camp, or a leaguer after a battle, 

All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels near them, 580 

Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian farmers. 
Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellowing ocean, 
Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, and leaving 
Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats of the sailors. 
Then, as the night descended, the herds returned from their pastures ; 
Sweet was the moist still air with the odor of milk from their udders ; 
Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-known bars of the farm-yard, — 
Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the hand of the milk-maid. 
Silence reigned in the streets ; from the church no Angelus sounded, 
Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no lights from the windows. 590 

But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires had been kindled, 
Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from wrecks in the tempest. 
Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces were gathered, 
Voices of women were heard, and of men, and the crying of children. 
Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth in his parish, 
Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and blessing and cheering, 
Like unto shipwrecked Paul on Melita's desolate sea-shore. 
Thus he approached the place where Evangeline sat with her father, 
And in the flickering light beheld the face of the old man, 
Haggard and hollow and wan, and without, either thought or emotion, 600 

E'en as the face of a clock from which the hands have been taken. 
Vainly Evangeline strove with words and caresses to cheer him, 
Vainly offered him food ; yet he moved not, he looked not, he spake not, 



evangel ;ne 103 



But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the flickering fire-light. 

" Benedicite I '" murmured the priest, in tones of compassion. 

More he fain would have said, but his heart was full, and his accents 

Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of a child on a threshold, 

Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful presence of sorrow. 

Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head of the maiden, 

Kaising his tearful eyes to the silent stars that above them 610 

Moved on their way, unperturbed by the wrongs and sorrows of mortals. 

Then sat he down at her side, and they wept together in silence. 

Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in autumn the blood-red 
Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o'er the horizon 
Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon the mountain and meadow, 
Seizing the rocks and the rivers and piling huge shadows together. 
Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs of the village, 
Gleamed on the sky and sea, and the ships that lay in the roadstead. 
Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of flame were 
Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like the quivering hands of a 
martyr. 620 

Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the burning thatch, and, uplifting, 
"Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from a hundred house-tops 
Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame intermingled. 

These things beheld in dismay the crowd on the shore and on shipboard. 
Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in their anguish, 
"We shall behold no more our homes in the village of Grand-Pre ! " 
Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the farm-yards, 
Thinking the day had dawned ; and anon the lowing of cattle 
Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of dogs interrupted. 
Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the sleeping encampments 630 

Far in the western prairies or forests that skirt the Nebraska, 
When the wild horses affrighted sweep by with the speed of the whirlwind, 
Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush to the river. 
Such was the sound that arose on the night, as the herds and the horses 
Broke through their folds and fences, and madly rushed o'er the meadows. 

Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, the priest and the maiden 
Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and widened before them ; 
And as they turned at length to speak to their silent companion, 
Lo ! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched abroad on the sea-shore 
Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had departed. 640 

Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, and the maiden 
Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in her terror. 
Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head on his bosom. 
Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious slumber ; 
And when she awoke from the trance, she beheld a multitude near her. 
Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully gazing upon her, 
Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest compassion. 
Still the blaze of the burning village illumined the landscape, 
Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the faces around her, 



io 4 EVANGELINE 



And like the day of doom it seemed to her wavering senses. 650 

Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the people, — 

''Let us bury him here by the sea. When a happier season 

Brings us again to our homes from the unknown land of our exile, 

Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the churchyard." 

Such were the words of the priest. And there in haste by the sea-side, 

Having the glare of the burning village for funeral torches, 

But without bell or book, they buried the farmer of Grand-Pre. 

And as the voice of the priest repeated the service of sorrow, 

Lo! with a mournful sound, like the voice of a vast congregation, 

Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar with the dirges. 660 

'T was the returning tide, that afar from the waste of the ocean, 

With the first dawn of the day, came heaving and hurrying landward. 

Then recommenced once more the stir and noise of embarking ; 

And with the ebb of the tide the ships sailed out of the harbor, 

Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and the village in ruins. 



PART THE SECOND 



Many a weary year had passed since the burning of Grand-Pre, 

When on the falling tide the freighted vessels departed, 

Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, into exile, 

Exile without an end, and without an example in story. 

Far asunder, on separate coasts, the Acadians landed ; 670 

Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when the wind from the northeast 

Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the Banks of Newfoundland. 

Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from city to city, 

From the cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern savannas, — 

From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands where the Father of Waters 

Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them down to the ocean, 

Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones of the mammoth. 

Friends they sought and homes ; and many, despairing, heart-broken, 

Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer a friend nor a fireside. 

Written their history stands on tablets of stone in the churchyards. 680 

Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and wandered, 

Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all things, 

Fair was she and young : but, alas ! before her extended, 

Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, with its pathway 

Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed and suffered before her, 

Passions long extinguished, and hopes long dead and abandoned, 

As the emigrant's way o'er the Western desert is marked by 

Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that bleach in the sunshine. 

Something there was in her life incomplete, imperfect, unfinished ; 

As if a morning of June, with all its music and sunshine, 690 

Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly descended 

Into the east again, from whence it late had arisen. 

Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by the fever within her, 

Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and thirst of the spirit, 



EVANGELINE 



">5 



She would commence again her endless search and endeavor ; 

Sometimes in churchyards strayed, and gazed on the crosses and tombstones, 

Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that perhaps in its bosom 

He was already at rest, and she longed to slumber beside him. 

Sometimes a rumor, a hearsay, an inarticulate whisper, 

Came with its airy hand to point and beckon her forward. 700 

Sometimes she spake with those who had seen her beloved and known him, 

But it was long ago, in some far-off place or forgotten. 

M Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " they said ; "Oh yes! we have seen him. 

He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both have gone to the prairies ; 

Coureurs-des-Bois are they, and famous hunters and trappers." 

" Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " said others ; " Oh yes! we have seen him. 

He is a Voyageur in the lowlands of Louisiana." 

Then would they say, " Dear child! why dream and wait for him longer ? 

Are there not other youths as fair as Gabriel ? others 

Who have hearts as tender and true, and spirits as loyal ? 710 

Here is Baptiste Leblanc, the notary's son, who has loved thee 

Many a tedious year ; come, give him thy hand and be happy ! 

Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catherine's tresses." 

Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but sadly, " I cannot! 

Whither my heart has gone, there follows my hand, and not elsewhere. 

For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and illumines the pathway, 

Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in darkness." 

Thereupon the priest, her friend and father-confessor, 

Said, with a smile, " O daughter! thy God thus speaketh within thee! 

Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted ; 720 

If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning 

Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment ; 

That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain. 

Patience ; accomplish thy labor ; accomplish thy work of affection ! 

Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike. 

Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the heart is made godlike, 

Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered more worthy of heaven ! " 

Cheered by the good man's words, Evangeline labored and waited. 

Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of the ocean, 

But with its sound there was mingled a voice that whispered, " Despair not! " 

Thus did that poor soul wander in want and cheerless discomfort, 731 

Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards and thorns of existence. 

Let me essay, O Muse! to follow the wanderer's footsteps ; — 

Not through each devious path, each changeful year of existence, 

But as a traveller follows a streamlet's course through the valley: 

Far from its margin at times, and seeing the gleam of its water 

Here and there, in some open space, and at intervals only ; 

Then drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan glooms that conceal it, 

Though he behold it not, he can hear its continuous murmur ; 

Happy, at length, if he find the spot where it reaches an outlet. 740 



11 

It was the month of May. Far down the Beautiful River, 
Past the Ohio shore and past the mouth of the Wabash, 






[o6 EVANGELINE 



Into the golden stream of the broad and swift Mississippi, 

Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by Acadian boatmen. 

It was a band of exiles : a raft, as it were, from the shipwrecked 

Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating together, 

Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a common misfortune ; 

Men and women and children, who, guided by hope or by hearsay, 

Sought for their kith and their kin among the few-acred farmers 

On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair Opelousas. 750 

With them Evangeline went, and her guide, the Father Felician. 

Onward o'er sunken sands, through a wilderness sombre with forests, 

Day after day they glided adown the turbulent river ; 

Night after night, by their blazing fires, encamped on its borders. 

Now through rushing chutes, among green islands, where plumelike 

Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they swept with the current, 

Then emerged into broad lagoons, where silvery sand-bars 

Lay in the stream, and along the wimpling waves of their margin, 

Shining with snow-white plumes, large flocks of pelicans waded. 

Level the landscape grew, and along the shores of the river, 760 

Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuriant gardens, 

Stood the houses of planters, with negro-cabins and dove-cots. 

They were approaching the region where reigns perpetual summer, 

Where through the Golden Coast, and groves of orange and citron, 

Sweeps with majestic curve the river away to the eastward. 

They, too, swerved from their course ; and entering the Bayou of Plaquemine, 

Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish and devious waters, 

Which, like a network of steel, extended in every direction. 

Over their heads the towering and tenebrous boughs of the cypress 

Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in mid-air 770 

Waved like banners that hang on the walls of ancient cathedrals. 

Deathlike the silence seemed, and unbroken, save by the herons 

Home to their roosts in the cedar-trees returning at sunset, 

Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with demoniac laughter. 

Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and gleamed on the water, 

Gleamed on the columns of cypress and cedar sustaining the arches, 

Down through whose broken vaults it fell as through chinks in a ruin. 

Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all things around them ; 

And o'er their spirits there came a feeling of wonder and sadness, — 

Strange forebodings of ill, unseen and that cannot be compassed. 780 

As, at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf of the prairies, 

Far in advance are closed the leaves of the shrinking mimosa, 

So, at the hoof -beats of fate, with sad forebodings of evil, 

Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of doom has attained it. 

But Evangeline's heart was sustained by a vision, that faintly 

Floated before her eyes, and beckoned her on through the moonlight. 

It was the thought of her brain that assumed the shape of a phantom. 

Through those shadowy aisles had Gabriel wandered before her, 

And every stroke of the oar now brought him nearer and nearer. 

Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, rose one of the oarsmen, 79 o 

And, as a signal sound, if others like them peradventure 



EVANGELINE 



107 




" Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew by the margin, 
Safely their boat was moored ' ' 

Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, blew a blast on his bugle. 

Wild through the dark colonnades and corridors leafy the blast rang, 

Breaking the seal of silence, and giving tongues to the forest. 

Soundless above them the banners of moss just stirred to the music. 

Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance, 

Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverberant branches ; 

But not a voice replied ; no answer came from the darkness ; 

And, when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence. 

Then Evangeline slept ; but the boatmen rowed through the midnight, 

Silent at times, then singing familiar Canadian boat-songs, 

Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian rivers, 

While through the night were heard the mysterious sounds of the desert, 

Far off, — indistinct, — as of wave or wind in the forest, 

Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the roar of the grim alligator. 



Thus ere another noon they emerged from the shades ; and before them 
Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atchafalaya. 
Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undulations 
Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in beauty, the lotus 
Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the boatmen. 810 

Faint was the air with the odorous breath of magnolia blossoms, 
And with the heat of noon ; and numberless sylvan islands, 
Fragrant and thickly embowered with blossoming hedges of roses, 
Near to whose shores they glided along, invited to slumber. 



io8 EVANGELINE 



Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars were suspended. 

Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew by the margin, 

Safely their boat was moored ; and scattered about on the greensward, 

Tired with their midnight toil, the weary travellers slumbered. 

Over them vast and high extended the cope of a cedar. 

Swinging from its great arms, the trumpet-flower and the grapevine 820 

Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder of Jacob, 

On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascending, descending, 

Were the swift humming-birds, that flitted from blossom to blossom. 

Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she slumbered beneath it. 

Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an opening heaven 

Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of regions celestial. 

Nearer, and ever nearer, among the numberless islands, 
Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o'er the water, 
Urged on its course by the sinewy arms of hunters and trappers. 
Northward its prow was turned, to the land of the bison and beaver. 830 

At the helm sat a youth, with countenance thoughtful and careworn. 
Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, and a sadness 
Somewhat beyond his years on his face was legibly written. 
Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, unhappy and restless, 
Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and of sorrow. 
Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of the island, 
But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen of palmettos, 
So that they saw not the boat, where it lay concealed in the willows ; 
All undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and unseen, were the sleepers. 
Angel of God was there none to awaken the slumbering maiden. 840 

Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a cloud on the prairie. 
After the sound of their oars on the tholes had died in the distance, 
As from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and the maiden 
Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, " O Father Felician 1 
Something says in my heart that near me Gabriel wanders. 
Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague superstition? 
Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to my spirit? " 
Then, with a blush, she added, " Alas for my credulous fancy ! 
Unto ears like thine such words as these have no meaning." 
But made answer the reverend man, and he smiled as he answered, — 850 

" Daughter, thy words are not idle ; nor are they to me without meaning. 
Feeling is deep and still ; and the word that floats on the surface 
Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden. 
Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions. 
Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far away to the southward, 
On the banks of the TSche, are the towns of St. Maur and St. Martin. 
There the long- wandering bride shall be given again to her bridegroom, 
There the long-absent pastor regain his flock and his sheepfold. 
Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and forests of fruit-trees; 
Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest of heavens 860 

Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls of the forest. 
They who dwell there have named it the Eden of Louisiana 1 " 



EVANGELINE 109 



With these words of cheer they arose and continued their journey. 
Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon 
Like a magician extended his golden wand o'er the landscape ; 
Twinkling vapors arose ; and sky and water and forest 
Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together. 
Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges of silver, 
Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the motionless water. 
Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible sweetness. 870 

Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains of feeling 
Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and waters around her. 
Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers, 
Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water, 
Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music, 
That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to listen. 
Plaintive at first were the tones and sad: then soaring to madness 
Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bacchantes. 
Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamentation ; 
Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in derision, 880 

As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree-tops 
Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on the branches. 
With such a prelude as this, and hearts that throbbed with emotion, 
Slowly they entered the T£che, where it flows through the green Opelousas, 
And, through the amber air, above the crest of the woodland, 
Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neighboring dwelling ; — 
Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant lowing of cattle. 



Near to the bank of the river, o'ershadowed by oaks, from whose branches 

Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mistletoe flaunted, 

Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatchets at Yule-tide, 890 

Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herdsman. A garden 

Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant blossoms, 

Filling the air with fragrance. The house itself was of timbers 

Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fitted together. 

Large and low was the roof ; and on slender columns supported, 

Rose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and spacious veranda, 

Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, extended around it. 

At each end of the house, amid the flowers of the garden, 

Stationed the dove-cots were, as love's perpetual symbol, 

Scenes of endless wooing, and endless contentions of rivals. 900 

Silence reigned o'er the place. The line of shadow and sunshine 

Ran near the tops of the trees; but the house itself was in shadow, 

And fror 1 its chimney-top, ascending and slowly expanding 

Into the g air, a thin blue column of smoke rose. 

In the r< he house, from the garden gate, ran a pathway 

Throug' :eat groves of oak to the skirts of the limitless prairie, 

Into wl of flowers the sun was slowly descending. 

Full in ;k of light, like ships with shadowy canvas 

Hangir from their spars in a motionless calm in the tropics, 

Stood j r of trees, with tangled cordage of grape-vines. 910 



no EVANGELINE 



Just where the woodlands met the flowery surf of the prairie, 
Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle and stirrups, 
Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet of deerskin. 
Broad and brown was the face that from under the Spanish sombrero 
Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly look of its master. 
Round about him were numberless herds of kine, that were grazing 
Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the vapory freshness 
That uprose from the river, and spread itself over the landscape. 
Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, and expanding 
Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, that resounded 920 

Wildly and sweet and far, through the still damp air of the evening. 
Suddenly out of the grass the long white horns of the cattle 
Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse currents of ocean. 
Silent a moment they gazed, then bellowing rushed o'er the prairie, 
And the whole mass became a cloud, a shade in the distance. 
Then, as the herdsman turned to the house, through the gate of the garden 
Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden advancing to meet him. 
Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in amazement, and forward 
Rushed with extended arms and exclamations of wonder ; 
When they beheld his face, they recognized Basil the blacksmith. 930 

•Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests to the garden. 
There in an arbor of roses with endless question and answer 
Gave they vent to their hearts, and renewed their friendly embraces, 
Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting silent and thoughtful. 
Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not; and now dark doubts and misgivings 
Stole o'er the maiden's heart; and Basil, somewhat embarrassed, 
Broke the silence and said, " If you came by the Atchafalaya, 
How have you nowhere encountered my Gabriel's boat on the bayous ? " 
Over Evangeline's face at the words of Basil a shade passed. 
Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a tremulous accent, 94 o 

" Gone ? is Gabriel gone ? " and, concealing her face on his shoulder, 
All her o'erburdened heart gave way, and she wept and lamented. 
Then the good Basil said, — and his voice grew blithe as he said it, — 
" Be of good cheer, my child ; it is only to-day he departed. 
Foolish boy ! he has 1 eft me alone with my herds and my horses. 
Moody and restless grown, and tried and troubled, his spirit 
Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet existence, 
Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful ever, 
Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his troubles, 

He at length had become so tedious to men and to maidens, 950 

Tedious even to me, that at length I bethought me, and sent him 
Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with the Spaniards. 
Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the Ozark Mountains, 
Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trapping the beaver. 
Therefore be of good cheer ; we will follow the fugitive lover ; 
He is not far on his way, and the Fates and the streams are against him. 
Up and away to-morrow, and through the red dew of the morning 
We will follow him fast, and bring him back to his prison." 

Then glad voices were heard, and up from the banks of the river. 
Borne aloft on his comrades' arms, came Michael the fiddler. 960 



EVANGELINE 



in 



Long under Basil's roof had lie lived like a god on Olympus, 
Having no other care than dispensing music to mortals. 
Far renowned was he for his silver locks and his fiddle. 
"Long live Michael," they cried, "our brave Acadian minstrel!" 
As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession ; and straightway 
Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greeting the old man 
Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while Basil, enraptured, 




Be of good cheer, my child ; 
It is only to-day he departed ' 



Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions and gossips, 

Laughing loud and long, and embracing mothers and daughters. 

Much they marvelled to see the wealth of the ci-devant blacksmith, < 

All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal demeanor ; 

Much they marvelled to hear his tales of the soil and the climate, 

And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were his who would take them 

Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, would go and do likewise. 

Thus they ascended the steps, and crossing the breezy veranda, 

Entered the hall of the house, where already the supper of Basil 

Waited his late return ; and they rested and feasted together. 



ii2 EVANGELINE 



Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness descended. 
All was silent without, and, illuming the landscape with silver, 
Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars ; but within doors, 980 

Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in the glimmering lamplight. 
Then from his station aloft, at the head of the table, the herdsman 
Poured forth his heart and his wine together in endless profusion. 
Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet Natchitoches tobacco, 
Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and smiled as they listened : — 
"Welcome once more, my friends, who long haV** been friendless and home- 
less, 
Welcome once more to a home, that is better perchance than the old one ! 
Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like the rivers; 
Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of the farmer. 
Smoothly the ploughshare runs through the soil, as a keel through the 
water. • 990 

All the year round the orange-groves are in blossom ; and grass grows 
More in a single night than a whole Canadian summer. 
Here, too, numberless herds run wild and unclaimed in the prairies; 
Here, too, lands may be had for the asking, and forests of timber 
With a few blows of the axe are hewn and framed into houses. 
After your houses are built, and your fields are yellow with harvests, 
No King George of England shall drive you away from your homesteads, 
Burning your dwellings and barns, and stealing your farms and your cattle." 
Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud from his nostrils, 
While his huge, brown hand came thundering down on the table, 1000 

So that the guests all started ; and Father Felician, astounded, 
Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuff half-way to his nostrils. 
But the brave Basil resumed, and his words were milder and gayer: — 
" Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware of the fever ! 
For it is not like that of our cold Acadian climate, 
Cured by wearing a spider hung round one's neck in a nutshell! " 
Then there were voices heard at the door, and footsteps approaching 
Sounded upon the stairs and the floor of the breezy veranda. 
It was the neighboring Creoles and small Acadian planters, 
Who had been summoned all to the house of Basil the Herdsman. 1010 

Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades and neighbors : 
Friend clasped friend in his arms ; and they who before were as strangers, 
Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends to each other, 
Drawn by the gentle bond of a common country together. 
But in the neighboring hall a strain of music, proceeding 
From the accordant strings of Michael's melodious fiddle, 
Broke up all further speech. Away, like children delighted, 
All things forgotten beside, they gave themselves to the maddening 
Whirl of the giddy dance, as it swept and swayed to the music, 
Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of fluttering garments. 1020 

Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, the priest and the herdsman 
Sat, conversing together of past and present and future ; 
While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for within her 
Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst of the music 



EVANGELINE 113 



Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepressible sadness 

Came o'er her heart, and uDseen she stole forth into the garden. 

Beautiful was the night. Behind the black wall of the forest, 

Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. On the river 

Fell here and there through the branches a tremulous gleam of the moonlight, 

Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and devious spirit. 1030 

Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers of the garden 

Poured out their souls in odors, that were their prayers and confessions 

Unto the night, as it went *ts way, like a silent Carthusian. 

Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with shadows and night-dews, 

Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and the magical moonlight 

Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable longings, 

As, through the garden-gate, and beneath the shade of the oak-trees, 

Passed she along the path to the edge of the measureless prairie. 

Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire-flies 

Gleamed and floated away in mingled and infinite numbers. 1040 

Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in the heavens, 

Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to marvel and worship, 

Save when a blazing comet was seen on the walls of that temple, 

As if a hand had appeared and written upon them, " Upharsin." 

And the soul of the maiaen, between the stars and the fire-flies, 

Wandered alone, and she cried, O Gabriel ! O my beloved ! 

Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot behold thee ? 

Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does not reach me ? 

Ah ! how often thy feet have trod this path to the prairie ! 

Ah ! how often thine eyes have looked on the woodlands around me ! 1050 

Ah ! how often beneath this oak, returning from labor, 

Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me in thy slumbers ! 

When shall these eyes behold, these amis be folded about thee ? " 

Loud and sudden and near the notes of a whippoorwill sounded 

Like a flute in the woods ; aud anon, through the neighboring thickets, 

Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into silence. 

" Patience ! " whispered the oaks from oracular caverns of darkness: 

And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, " To-morrow I " 

Bright rose the sun next day ; and all the flowers of the garden 
Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and anointed his tresses 1060 

With the delicious balm that they bore in their vases of crystal. 
" Farewell !" said the priest, as he stood at the shadowy threshold; 
V See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from his fasting and famine, 
And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when the bridegroom was com- 
ing." 
"Farewell!" answered the maiden, and, smiling, with Basil descended 
Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen already were waiting. 
Thus beginning their journey with morning, and sunshine, and gladness, 
Swiftly they followed the flight of him who was speeding before them, 
Blown by the blast of fate like a dead leaf over the desert. 
Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that succeeded, 1070 

Found they the trace of his course, in lake or forest or river, 
Nor, after many days, had they found him ; but vague and uncertain 



ii4 EVANGELINE 



Rumors alone were their guides through a wild and desolate country ; 
Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of Adayes, 
Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from the garrulous landlord 
That on the day before, with horses and guides and companions, 
Gabriel left the village, and took the road of the prairies. 

IV 

Far in the West there lies a desert land, where the mountains 

Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and luminous summits. 

Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the gorge, like a gateway, 108c 

Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emigrant's wagon, 

Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway and Owyhee. 

Eastward, with devious course, among the Wind-river Mountains, 

Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate leaps the Nebraska ; 

And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and the Spanish sierras, 

Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by the wind of the desert, 

Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, descend to the ocean, 

Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and solemn vibrations. 

Spreading between these streams are the wondrous, beautiful prairies; 

Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and sunshine, 1090 

Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple amorphas. 

Over them wandered the buffalo herds, and the elk and the roebuck ; 

Over them wandered the wolves, and herds of riderless horses ; 

Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are weary with travel ; 

Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmael's children, 

Staining the desert with blood ; and above their terrible war-trails 

Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the vulture, 

Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered in battle, 

By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the heavens. 

Here and there rise smokes from the camps of these savage marauders ; noo 

Here and there rise groves from the margins of swift-running rivers ; 

And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk of the desert, 

Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots by the brook-side, 

And over all is the sky, the clear and crystalline heaven, 

Like the protecting hand of God inverted above them. 

Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark Mountains, 
Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trappers behind him. 
Bay after day, with their Indian guides, the maiden and Basil 
Followed his flying steps, and thought each day to o'ertake him. 
Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the smoke of his camp-fire mo 

Rise in the morning air from the distant plain ; but at nightfall, 
When they had reached the place they found only embers and ashes. 
And, though their hearts were sad at times and their bodies were weary, 
Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata Morgana 
Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated and vanished before them. 

Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there silently entered 
Into their little camp an Indian woman, whose features 
Wore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as great as her sorrow. 
8he was a Shawnee woman returning home to her people, 



EVANGELINE 



"5 



From the far-off hunting-grounds of the cruel Camanches, nao 

Where her Canadian husband, a Coureur-des-Bois, had been murdered. 
Touched were their hearts at her story, and warmest and friendliest welcome 
Gave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and feasted among them 
On the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on the embers. 
But when their meal was done, and Basil and all his companions, 
Worn with the long day's march and the chase of the deer and the bison, 
Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept where the quivering fire-light 
Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms wrapped up in their blankets, 



Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat and repeated 
Slowly, with soft, low voice, and the charm of her Indian accent, 
All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and pains, and reverses. 
Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know that another 
Hapless heart like her own had loved and had been disappointed. 
Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and woman's compassion, 
Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had suffered was near her 
She in turn related her love and all its disasters. 
Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when she had ended 



1130 




They found only embers and ashes " 



Still was mute ; but at length, as if a mysterious horror 

Passed through her brain, she spake, and repeated the tale of the Mowis ; 

Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and wedded a maiden, 

But, when the morning came, arose and passed from the wigwam, 

Fading and melting away and dissolving into the sunshine, 



n6 EVANGELINE 



Till she beheld him no more, though she followed far into the forest. 

Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a weird incantation, 

Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was wooed by a phantom, 

That through the pines o'er her father's lodge, in the hush of the twilight, 

Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered love to the maiden, 

Till she followed his green and waving plume through the forest, 

And nevermore returned, nor was seen again by her people. 

Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evangeline listened 1150 

To the soft flow of her magical words, till the region around her 

Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swarthy guest the enchantress. 

Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains the moon rose, 

Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious splendor 

Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing and filling the woodland. 

With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, and the branches 

Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible whispers. 

Filled with the thoughts of love was Evangeline's heart, but a secret 

Subtile sense crept in of pain and indefinite terror, 

As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the nest of the swallow. ii6o 

It was no earthly fear. A breath from the region of spirits 

Seemed to float in the air of night ; and she felt for a moment 

That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursuing a phantom. 

With this thought she slept, and the fear and the phantom had vanished. 

Early upon the morrow the march was resumed ; and the Shawnee 
Said, as they journeyed along, " On the western slope of these mountains 
Dwells in his little village the Black Robe chief of the Mission. 
Much he teaches the people, and tells them of Mary and Jesus. 
Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep with pain, as they hear him." 
Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, Evangeline answered, n.70 

' ' Let us go to the Mission, for there good tidings await us ! " 
Thither they turned their steeds; and behind a spur of the mountains, 
Just as the sun went down, they heard a murmur of voices, 
And in a meadow green and broad, by the bank of a river, 
Saw the tents of the Christians, the tents of the Jesuit Mission. 
Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of the village, 
Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children. A crucifix fastened 
High on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed by grapevines, 
Looked with its agonized face on the multitude kneeling beneath it. 
This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through the intricate arches 1180 

Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their vespers, 
Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and sighs of the branches. 
Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers, nearer approaching, 
Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the evening devotions. 
But when the service was done, and the benediction had fallen 
Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed from the hands of the sower, 
Slowly the reverend man advanced to the strangers, and bade them 
Welcome ; and when they replied, he smiled with benignant expression, 
Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother-tongue in the forest, 
And, with words of kindness, conducted them into his wigwam. 1190 

There upon mats and skins they reposed, and on cakes of the maize-ear 



EVANGELINE 117 



Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the water-gourd of the teacher. 

Soon was their story told ; and the priest with solemnity answered : — 

"Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel, seated 

On this mat by my side, where now the maiden reposes, 

Told me this same sad tale ; then arose and continued his journey!" 

Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake with an accent of kindness ; 

But on Evangeline's heart fell his words as in winter the snow-flakes 

Fall into some lone nest from which the birds have departed. 

" Far to the north he has gone," continued the priest : " but in autumn, 120c 

When the chase is done, will return again to the Mission." 

Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek and submissive, 

"Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad and afflicted." 

So seemed it wise and well unto all ; and betimes on the morrow, 

Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian guides and companions, 

Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline stayed at the Mission. 

Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded each other, — 
Days and weeks and months; and the fields of maize that were springing 
Green from the ground when a stranger she came, now waving above her, 
Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, and forming 1210 

Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries pillaged by squirrels. 
Then in the golden weather the maize was husked, and the maidens 
Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that betokened a lover, 
But at the crooked laughed, and called it a thief in the corn-field. 
Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought not her lover. 
"Patience ! " the priest would say ; " have faith, and thy prayer will be an- 
swered ! 
Look at this vigorous plant that lifts its head from the meadow, 
See how its leaves are turned to the north, as true as the magnet ; 
This is the compass-flower, that the finger of God has planted 
Here in the houseless wild, to direct the traveller's journey 1220 

Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the desert. 
Such in the soul of man is faith. The blossoms of passion, 
Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and fuller of fragrance, 
But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and their odor is deadly. 
Only this humble plant can guide us here, and hereafter 
Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wet with the dews of nepenthe." 

So came the autumn, and passed, and the winter, — yet Gabriel came not ; 
Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes of the robin and bluebird 
Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel came not. 
But on the breath of the summer winds a rumor was wafted 123c 

Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odor of blossom. 
Far to the north and east, it said, in the Michigan forests, 
Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the Saginaw River. 
And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes of St. Lawrence, 
Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from the Mission. 
When over weary ways, by long and perilous marches, 
She had attained at length the depths of the Michigan forests 
Found she the hunter's lodge deserted and fallen to ruin ! 



n8 



EVANGELINE 



^im^ 




"Found she the hunter's lodge deserted and fallen to ruin ! " 



Thus did the long sad years glide on, and in seasons and places 
Divers and distant far was seen the wandering maiden ; — I24 o 

Now in the Tents of Grace of the meek Moravian Missions, 
Now in the noisy camps and the battlefields of the army, 
Now in secluded hamlets, in towns and populous cities. 
Like a phantom she came, and passed away unremembered. 
Fair was she and young, when in hope began the long journey ; 
Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it ended. 
Each succeeding year stole something away from her beauty, 
Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom and the shadow. 
Then there appeared and spread faint streaks of gray o'er her forehead, 
Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her earthly horizon, 1250 

As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the morning,, 



In that delightful land which is washed by the Delaware waters, 

Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the apostle, 

Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city he founded. 

There all the air is balm, and the peach is the emblem of beauty, 

And the streets still reecho the names of the trees of the forest, 

As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose haunts they molested. 

There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, an exile, 

Finding among the children of Penn a home and a country. 

There old Rene Leblanc had died ; and when he departed, 

Saw at his side only one of all his hundred descendants. 

Something at least there was in the friendly streets of the city, 



1260 



EVANGELINE 119 



Something that spake to her heart, and made her no longer a stranger ; 

And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou of the Quakers, 

For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country, 

Where all men were equal, and all were brothers and sisters. 

So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed endeavor, 

Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, uncomplaining, 

Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her thoughts and her footsteps. 

As from the mountain's top the rainy mists of the morning 1270 

Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape below us, 

Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities and hamlets, 

So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw the world far below her, 

Dark no longer, but all illumined with love ; and the pathway 

Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth and fair in the distance. 

Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was his image, 

Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last she beheld him, 

Only more beautiful made by his death-like silence and absence.. 

Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for it was not. 

Over him years had no power ; he was not changed, but transfigured } 1280 

He had become to her heart as one who is dead, and not absent ; 

Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to others, 

This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had taught her. 

So was her love diffused, but, like to some odorous spices, 

Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air with aroma. 

Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to follow 

Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of her Saviour. 

Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy ; frequenting 

Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of the city, 

Where distress and want concealed themselves from the sunlight, 1290 

Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished neglected. 

Night after night, when the world was asleep, as the watchman repeated 

Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was well in the city, 

High at some lonely window he saw the light of her taper. 

Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as slow through the suburbs 

Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and fruits for the market, 

Met he that meek, pale face, returning home from its watchings. 

Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the city, 
Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by flocks of wild pigeons, 
Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught in their craws but an acorn. 1300 
And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of September, 
Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a lake in the meadow, 
So death flooded life, and, o'erflowing its natural margin 
Spread to a brackish lake the silver stream of existence. 
Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to charm, the oppressor ; 
But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his anger; — 
Only, alas ! the poor, who had neither friends nor attendants, 
Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the homeless. 
Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of meadows and woodlands ; — 
Now the city surrounds it ; but still, with its gateway and wicket I3IO 

Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble walls seemed to echo 



i2o EVANGELINE 



Softly the words of the Lord : " The poor ye always have with you." 
Thither, by night and by day, came the Sister of Mercy. The dying 
Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to behold there 
Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead with splendor, 
Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints and apostles, 
Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a distance. 
Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city celestial, 
Into whose shining gates erelong their spirits would enter. 

Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, deserted and silent, 132c 

Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of the almshouse. 
Sweet on the summer air was the odor of flowers in the garden ; 
And she paused on her way to gather the fairest among them, 
That the dying once more might rejoice in their fragrance and beauty. 
Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, cooled by the east-wind, 
Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from the belfry of Christ Church 
While, intermingled with these, across the meadows were wafted 
Soimds of psalms, that were sung by the Swedes in their church at Wicaco. 
Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the hour on her spirit : 
Something within her said, "At length thy trials are ended ;" 1330 

And, with light in her looks, she entered the chambers of sickness. 
Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful attendants, 
Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, and in silence 
Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and concealing their faces, 
Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow by the roadside. 
Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline entered, 
Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she passed, for her presence 
Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the walls of a prison. 
And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the consoler, 
Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever. 1340 

Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night time ; 
Vacant their places were, or filled already by strangers. 

Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of wonder, 
Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, while a shudder 
Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flowerets dropped from her fingers, 
And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom of the morning. 
Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such terrible anguish, 
That the dying heard it, and started up from their pillows. 
On the pallet before her was stretched the form of an old man. 
Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that shaded his temples ; 135* 

But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a moment 
Seemed to assume once more the forms of its earlier manhood ; 
So are wont to be changed the faces of those who are dying. 
Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush of the fever, 
As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had besprinkled its portals, 
That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and pass over. 
Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit exhausted 
Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths in the darkness, 
Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking and sinking. 



EVANGELINE 



121 




Vainly he strove to whisper her name : 



Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied reverberations, 

Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush that succeeded 

Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint-like, 

"Gabriel! O my beloved! " and died away into silence. 

Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of his childhood ; 

Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among them, 

Village, and mountain, and woodlands ; and, walking under their shadow 

As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his vision. 

Tears came into his eyes ; and as slowly he lifted his eyelids, 

Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by his bedside. 

Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents unuttered 

Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what his tongue 

spoken. 
Vainly he strove to rise ; and Evangeline, kneeling beside him, 
Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her bosom. 
Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it suddenly sank into darkness, 
As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at a casement. 



1360 



1370 
would have 



122 EVANGELINE 



All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, 
All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, 
All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience ! 
And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom, 
Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, "Father, I thank thee!" 1380 



Still stands the forest primeval ; but far away from its shadow 
Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping. 
Under the humble walls of the little Catholic churchyard, 
In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and unnoticed. 
Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them, 
Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and forever, 
Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy, 
Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their labors, 
Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their journey ! 

Still stands the forest primeval ; but under the shade of its branches 1390 
Dwells another race, with other customs and language. 
Only along the shore of the mournful and misty Atlantic 
Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from exile 
Wandered back to their native land to die in its bosom. 
In the fisherman's cot the wheel and the loom are still busy ; 
Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kirtles of homespun, 
And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's story, 
"While from its rocky caverns the deep- voiced, neighboring ocean 
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. 




" He saw the form of his promised bride " 



THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE 



DEDICATION 

As one who, walking in the twilight 
gloom, 
Hears round about him voices as it 
darkens, 
And seeing not the forms from which 
they come, 
Pauses from time to time, and turns 
and hearkens ; 

So walking here in twilight, O my 
friends ! 



I hear your voices, softened by the 

distance, 
And pause, and turn to listen, as each 

sends 
His words of friendship, comfort, 

and assistance. 

If any thought of mine, or sung or told, 
Has ever given delight or consola- 
tion, IO 
Ye have repaid me back a thousand- 
fold, 
By every friendly sign and saluta- 
tion. 



124 



THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE 



Thanks for the sympathies that ye 
have shown ! 
Thanks for each kindly word, each 
silent token, 
That teaches me, when seeming most 
alone, 
Friends are around us, though no 
word be spoken. 

Kind messages, that pass from land to 
land ; 
Kind letters, that betray the heart's 
deep history, 
In which we feel the pressure of a 
hand, — 
One touch of fire, — and all the rest 
is mystery ! 20 

The pleasant books, that silently 
among 
Our household treasures take famil- 
iar places, 
And are to us as if a living tongue 
Spake from the printed leaves or 
pictured faces ! 

Perhaps on earth I never shall behold, 
With eye of sense, your outward 
form and semblance ; 
Therefore to me ye never will grow 
old, 
But live forever young in my re- 
membrance ! 

Never grow old, nor change, nor pass 
away ! 
Your gentle voices will flow on for- 
ever, 30 
When life grows bare and tarnished 
with decay, 
As through a leafless landscape 
flows a river. 

Not chance of birth or place has made 
us friends, 
Being oftentimes of different 
tongues and nations, 
But the endeavor for the selfsame 
ends, 
With the same hopes, and fears, and 
aspirations. 

Therefore I hope to join your seaside 
walk, 
Saddened, and mostly silent, with 
emotion ; 



Not interrupting with intrusive talk 
The grand, majestic symphonies of 
ocean. 4 o 

Therefore I hope, as no unwelcome 
guest, 
At your warm fireside, when the 
lamps are lighted, 
To have my place reserved among the 
rest, 
Nor stand as one unsought and un- 
invited ! 



BY THE SEASIDE 

THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP 

' ' Build me straight, O worthy Mas- 
ter! 
Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel, 
That shall laugh at all disaster, 
And with wave and whirlwind 
wrestle ! " 

The merchant's word 

Delighted the Master heard ; 

For his heart was in his work, and the 

heart 
Giveth grace unto every Art. 
A quiet smile played round his lips, 
As the eddies and dimples of the tide 10 
Play round the bows of ships, 
That steadily at anchor ride. 
And with a voice that was full of glee, 
He answered, "Erelong we will 

launch 
A vessel as goodly, and strong, and 

stanch. 
As ever weathered a wintry sea ! " 
And first with nicest skill and art, 
Perfect and finished in every part, 
A little model the Master wrought, 
Which should be to the larger plan 20 
What the child is to the man, 
Its counterpart in miniature ; 
That with a hand more swift and sure 
The greater labor might be brought 
To answer to his inward thought. 
And as he labored, his mind ran o'er 
The various ships that were built of 

yore, 
And above them all, and strangest of 

all 
Towered the Great Harry, crank and 

tall, 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP 



125 



Whose picture was hanging on the 

wall, 30 

With bows and stern raised high in air, 
And balconies hanging here and there, 
And signal lanterns and flags afloat, 
And eight round towers, like those 

that frown 
From some old castle, looking down 
Upon the drawbridge and the moat. 
And he said with a smile, " Our ship, 

I wis, 
Shall be of another form than this ! " 
It was of another form, indeed ; 
Built for freight, and yet for speed, 40 
A beautiful and gallant craft ; 
Broad in the beam, that the stress of 

the blast, 
Pressing down upon sail and mast, 
Might not the sharp bows overwhelm ; 
Broad in the beam, but sloping aft 
With graceful curve and slow degrees, 
That she might be docile to the helm, 
And that the currents of parted seas, 
Closing behind, with mighty force, 
Might aid and not impede her course. 

In the ship-yard stood the Master, 51 
With the model of the vessel, 
That should laugh at all disaster, 
And with wave and whirlwind 
wrestle ! 

Covering many a rood of ground, 
Lay the timber piled around ; 
Timber of chestnut, and elm, and oak, 
And scattered here and there, with 

these, 
The knarred and crooked cedar knees ; 
Brought from regions far away, 60 
From Pascagoula's sunny bay, 
And the banks of the roaring Roa- 
noke! 
Ah! what a wondrous thing it is 
To note how many wheels of toil 
One thought, one word, can set in 

motion ! 
There 's not a ship that sails the ocean, 
But every climate, every soil, 
Must bring its tribute, great or small, 
And help to build the wooden wall ! 

The sun was rising o'er the sea, 70 
And long the level shadows lay, 
As if they, too, the beams would be 
Of some great, airy argosy, 
Framed and launched in a single day. 



That silent architect, the sun, 
Had hewn and laid them every one, 
Ere the work of man was yet begun. 
Beside the Master, when he spoke, 
A youth, against an anchor leaning, 
Listened, to catch his slightest mean- 
ing. 80 
Only the long waves, as they broke 
In ripples on the pebbly beach, 
Interrupted the old man's speech. 

Beautiful they were, in sooth, 
The old man and the fiery youth ! 
The old man, in whose busy brain 
Many a- ship that sailed the main 
Was modelled o'er and o'er again ; — 
The fiery youth, who was to be 
The heir of his dexterity, 90 

The heir of his house, and his daugh- 
ter's hand, 
When he had built and launched from 

land 
What the elder head had planned. 

"Thus," said he, " will we build this 

ship! 
Lay square the blocks upon the slip, 
And follow well this plan of mine. 
Choose the timbers with greatest care ; 
Of all that is unsound beware ; 
For only what is sound and strong 
To this vessel shall belong. 100 

Cedar of Maine and Georgia pine 
Here together shall combine. 
A goodly frame, and a goodly fame, 
And the Union be her name ! 
For the day that gives her to the sea 
Shall give my daughter unto thee ! " 

The Master's word 
Enraptured the young man heard ; 
And as he turned his face aside, 
With a look of joy and a thrill of 

pride no 

Standing before 
Her father's door, 
He saw the form of his promised 

bride. 
The sun shone on her golden hair, 
And her cheek was glowing fresh and 

fair, 
With the breath of morn and the soft 

sea air. 
Like a beauteous barge was she, 
Still at, rest on the sandy beach, 
Just beyond the billow's reach ; 



126 



THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE 



But he 120 

Was the restless, seething, stormy sea ! 
Ah, how skilful grows the hand 
That obeyeth Love's command ! 
It is the heart, and not the brain, 
That to the highest doth attain, 
And he who folio weth Love's behest 
Far excelleth all the rest ! 

Thus with the rising of the sun 

Was the noble task begun, 

And soon throughout the ship -yard's 

bounds 130 

Were heard the intermingled sounds 
Of axes and of mallets, plied 
With vigorous arms on every side ; 
Plied so deftly and so well, 
That, ere the shadows of evening fell, 
The keel of oak for a noble ship, 
Scarfed and bolted, straight and 

strong, 
Was lying ready, and stretched along 
The blocks, well placed upon the slip. 
Happy, thrice happy, every one 140 
Who sees his labor well begun, 
And not perplexed and multiplied, 
By idly waiting for time and tide ! 

And when the hot, long day was o'er, 
The young man at the Master's door 
Sat with the maiden calm and still, 
And within the porch, a little more 
Removed beyond the evening chill, 
The father sat, and told them tales 
Of wrecks in the great September 
gales, 150 

Of pirates coasting the Spanish Main, 
And ships that never came back again, 
The chance and change of a sailor's 

life, 
Want and plenty, rest and strife, 
His roving fancy, like the wind, 
That nothing can stay and nothing can 

bind. 
And the magic charm of foreign lands, 
With shadows of palms, and shining- 
sands, 
Where the tumbling surf, 
O'er the coral reefs of Madagascar, 160 
Washes the feet of the swarthy Lascar, 
As he lies alone and asleep on the turf. 
And the trembling maiden held her 

breath 
At the tales of that awful, pitiless sea, 
With all its terror and mystery, 
The dim, dark sea, so like unto Death, 



That divides and yet unites mankind ! 
And whenever the old man paused, a 

gleam 
From the bowl of his pipe would 

awhile illume 169 

The silent group in the twilight gloom, 
And thoughtful faces, as in a dream ; 
And for a moment one might mark 
What had been hidden by the dark, 
That the head of the maiden lay at 

rest, 
Tenderly, on the young man's breast! 

Day by day the vessel grew, 

With timbers fashioned strong and 

true, 
Stemson and keelson and sternson- 

knee, 
Till, framed with perfect symmetry, 
A skeleton ship rose up to view ! 180 
And around the bows and along the 

side 
The heavy hammers and mallets plied, 
Till after many a week, at length, 
Wonderful for form and strength, 
Sublime in its enormous bulk, 
Loomed aloft the shadowy hulk! 
And around it columns of smoke, up- 
wreathing, 
Rose from the boiling, bubbling, 

seething 
Caldron, that glowed, 
And overflowed 19c 

With the black tar, heated for the 

sheathing. 
And amid the clamors 
Of clattering hammers, 
He who listened heard now and then 
The song of the Master and his men : — 

"Build me straight, O worthy Mas- 
ter, 
Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel, 
That shall laugh at all disaster, 
And with wave and whirlwind 
wrestle! " 

With oaken brace and copper band, too 

Lay the rudder on the sand, 

That, like a thought, should have con- 
trol 

Over the movement of the whole ; 

And near it the anchor, whose giant 
hand 

Would reach down and grapple with 
the land, 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP 



127 



And immovable and fast 
Hold the great ship against the bellow- 
ing blast! 
And at the bows an image stood, 208 
By a cunning artist carved in wood, 
With robes of white, that far behind 
Seemed to be fluttering in the wind. 
It was not shaped in a classic mould, 
Not like a Nymph or Goddess of 
old, 



Behold, at last, 
Each tall and tapering mast 
Is swung into its place ; 
Shrouds and stays 
Holding it firm and fast f 

Long ago, 

In the deer-haunted forests of Maine, 
When upon mountain and plain 230 
Lay the snow, 




" They fell, — those lordly pines ! 



Or Naiad rising from the water, 

But modelled from the Master's 

daughter ! 
On many a dreary and misty night, 
'T will be seen by the rays of the sig- 
nal light, 
Speeding along through the rain and 

the dark, 
Like a ghost in its snow-white sark, 
The pilot of some phantom bark, 220 
Guiding the vessel, in its flight, 
By a patt none other knows aright! 



They fell, — those lordly pines ! 

Those grand, majestic pines! 

'Mid shouts and cheers 

The jaded steers, 

Panting beneath the goad, 

Dragged down the weary, winding road 

Those captive kings so straight and 

tall, 
To be shorn of their streaming hair, 
And naked and bare, 240 

To feel the stress and the strain 
Of the wind and the reeling main, 



128 



THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE 



Whose roar 

Would remind them forevermore 
Of their native forests they should not 
see again. 

And everywhere 

The slender, graceful spars 

Poise aloft in the air, 

And at the mast-head, 

White, blue, and red, 250 

A flag unrolls the stripes and stars. 

Ah ! when the wanderer, lonely, 

friendless, 
In foreign harbors shall behold 
That flag unrolled, 
'T will be as a friendly hand 
Stretched out from his native land, 
Filling his heart with memories sweet 

and endless ! 

All is finished ! and at length 

Has come the bridal day 

Of beauty and of strength. 260 

To-day the vessel shall be launched ! 

With fleecy clouds the sky is blanched, 

And o'er the bay, 

Slowly, in all his splendors dight, 

The great sun rises to behold the sight. 

The ocean old, 

Centuries old, 

Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled, 

Paces restless to and fro, 

Up and down the sands of gold. 270 

His beating heart is not at rest ; 

And far and wide, 

With ceaseless flow, 

His beard of snow 

Heaves with the heaving of his breast. 

He waits impatient for his bride. 

There she stands, 

With her foot upon the sands, 

Decked with flags and streamers gay, 

In honor of her marriage day, 280 

Her snow-white signals fluttering, 

blending, 
Round her like a veil descending, 
Ready to be 
The bride of the gray old sea. 

On the deck another bride 
Is standing by her lover's side. 
Shadows from the flags and shrouds, 
Like the shadows cast by clouds, 
Broken by many a sudden fleck, 
Fall around them on the deck. 290 



The prayer is said, 

The service read, 

The joyous bridegroom bows his 

head; 
And in tears the good old Master 
Shakes the brown hand of his son, 
Kisses his daughter's glowing cheek 
In silence, for he cannot speak, 
And ever faster 

Down his own the tears begin to run. 
The worthy pastor — 300 

The shepherd of that wandering flock, 
That has the ocean for its wold, 
That has the vessel for its fold, 
Leaping ever from rock to rock — 
Spake, with accents mild and clear, 
Words of warning, words of cheer, 
But tedious to the bridegroom's ear. 
He knew the chart 
Of the sailor's heart, 
All its pleasures and its griefs, 310 
All its shallows and rocky reefs, 
All those secret currents, that flow 
With such resistless undertow, 
And lift and drift, with terrible force, 
The will from its moorings and its 

course. 
Therefore he spake, and thus said 

he: — 

' ' Like unto ships far off at sea, 
Outward or homeward bound, are we. 
Before, behind, and all around, 
Floats and swings the horizon's 

bound, 320 

Seems at its distant rim to rise 
And climb the crystal wall of the 

skies, 
And then again to turn and sink, 
As if we could slide from its outer 

brink. 
Ah ! it is not the sea, 
It is not the sea that sinks and shelves, 
But ourselves 
That rock and rise 
With endless and uneasy motion, 
Now touching the very skies, 330 

Now sinking into the depths of ocean. 
Ah ! if our souls but poise and swing 
Like the compass in its brazen ring, 
Ever level and ever true 
To the toil and the task we have to do, 
We shall sail securely, and safely 

reach 
The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining 

beach 



SEAWEED 



129 



The sights we see, and the sounds we 

hear, 
Will be those of joy and not of fear! " 

Then the Master, 340 

With a gesture of command, 

Waved his hand ; 

And at the word, 

Loud and sudden there was heard, 

All around them and below, 

The sound of hammers, blow on blow, 

Knocking away the shores and spurs. 

And see! she stirs! 

She starts, — she moves, — she seems 

to feel 
The thrill of life along her keel, 350 
And, spurning with her foot the 

ground, 
With one exulting, joyous bound, 
She leaps into the ocean's arms 1 

And lo ! from the assembled crowd 
There rose a shout, prolonged and 

loud, 
That to the ocean seemed to say, 
"Take her, O bridegroom, old and 

gray, 
Take her to thy protecting arms, 
With all her youth and all her 

charms ! " 

How beautiful she is! How fair 360 
She lies within those arms, that press 
Her form with many a soft caress 
Of tenderness and watchful care I 
Sail forth into the sea, O ship ! 
Through wind and wave, right on- 
ward steer 1 . 
The moistened eye, the trembling lip, 
Are not the signs of doubt or fear. 

Sail forth into the sea of life, 
O gentle, loving, trusting wife, 
And safe from all adversity 370 

Upon the bosom of that sea 
Thy comings and thy goings be f 
For gentleness and love and trust 
Prevail o'er angry wave and gust ; 
And in the wreck of noble lives 
Something immortal still survives I 

Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State! 
Sail on, O Union, strong and great! 
Humanity with all its fears, 
With all the hopes of future years, 380 
Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! 



We know what Master laid thy keel, 
What Workmen wrought thy ribs of 

steel, 
Who made each mast, and sail, and 

rope, 
What anvils rang, what hammers 
. i. beat, 

In what a forge and what a heat 
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope ! 
Fear not each sudden sound and shock, 
'T is of the wave and not the rock ; 
'T is but the flapping of the sail, 390 
And not a rent made by the gale ! 
In spite of rock and tempest's roar, 
In spite of false lights on the shore, 
SaU on, nor fear to breast the sea! 
Our hearts, our hopes, are all with 

thee, 
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our 

tears, 
Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, 
Are all with thee, — are all with thee f 

1 SEAWEED 

When descends on the Atlantic 

The gigantic 
Storm- wind of the equinox, 
Landward in his wrath he scourges 

The toiling surges, 
Laden with seaweed from the rocks : 

From Bermuda's reefs ; from edges 

Of sunken ledges^ 
In some far-off, bright Azore ; 
From Bahama, and the dashing, 10 

Silver-flashing 
Surges of San Salvador ; 

From the tumbling surf, that buries 

The Orkneyan skerries, 
Answering the hoarse Hebrides ; 
And from wrecks of ships, and drift- 
ing 

Spars, uplifting 
On the desolate, rainy seas ; — 

Ever drifting, drifting, drifting 

On the shifting 20 

Currents of the restless main ; 

Till in sheltered coves, and reaches 
Of sandy beaches, 

All have found repose again. 

So when storms of wild emotion 
Strike the ocean 



13° 



THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE 



Of the poet's soul, erelong 

From each cave and rocky fastness, 

In its vastness, 
Floats some fragment of a song: 30 

From the far-off isles enchanted, 

Heaven has planted 
With the golden fruit of Truth ; 
From the flashing surf, whose vision 

Gleams Elysian 
In the tropic clime of Youth ; 

From the strong Will, and the En- 
deavor 
That forever 
Wrestle with the tides of Fate ; 
From the wreck of Hopes far-scat- 
tered, 40 
Tempest-shattered, 
Floating waste and desolate ; — 

Ever drifting, drifting, drifting 

On the shifting 
Currents of the restless heart ; 
Till at length in books recorded, 

They, like hoarded 
Household words, no more depart. 



CHRYSAOR 

Just above yon sandy bar, 

As the day grows fainter and dim- 
mer, 
Lonely and lovely, a single star 
Lights the air with a dusky glim- 
mer. 

Into the ocean faint and far 

Falls the trail of its golden splen- 
dor, 
And the gleam of that single star 

Is ever refulgent, soft, and tender. 

Chrysaor, rising out of the sea, 

Showed thus glorious and thus emu- 
lous, 
Leaving the arms of Callirrhoe, 
Forever tender, soft, and tremu- 
lous. 

Thus o'er the ocean faint and far 
Trailed the gleam of his falchion 
brightly; 

Is it a God, or is it a star 
That, entranced, I gaze on nightly ! 



THE SECRET OF THE SEA 

Ah ! what pleasant visions haunt me 

As I gaze upon the sea ! 
All the old romantic legends, 

All my dreams, come back to me. 

Sails of silk and ropes of sandal, 
Such as gleam in ancient lore ; 

And the singing of the sailors, 
And the answer from the shore ! 

Most of all, the Spanish ballad 
Haunts me oft, and tarries long, i c 

Of the noble Count Arnaldos 
And the sailor's mystic song. 

Like the long waves on a sea-beach, 
Where the sand as silver shines, 

With a soft, monotonous cadence, 
Flow its unrhymed lyric lines ; — 

Telling how the Count Arnaldos, 
With his hawk upon his hand, 

Saw a fair and stately galley, 
Steering onward to the land ; — 20 

How he heard the ancient helms- 
man 

Chant a song so wild and clear, 
That the sailing sea-bird slowly 

Poised upon the mast to hear, 

Till his soul was full of longing, 
And he cried, with impulse strong, — 

"Helmsman! for the love of hea- 
ven, 
Teach me, too, that wondrous song ! " 

"Wouldst thou," — so the helmsman 
answered, 

' ' Learn the secret of the sea ? 30 
Only those who brave its dangers 

Comprehend its mystery ! " 

In each sail that skims the hori- 
zon, 

In each landward-blowing breeze, 
I behold that stately galley, 

Hear those mournful melodies ; 

Till my soul is full of longing 

For the secret of the sea, 
And the heart of the great ocean 

Sends a thrilling pulse through 
me. 4« 



THE LIGHTHOUSE 



*3* 



TWILIGHT 

The twilight is sad and cloudy, 
The wind blows wild and free, 

And like the wings of sea-birds 
Flash the white caps of the sea. 

But in the fisherman's cottage 
There shines a ruddier light, 

And a little face at the window 
Peers out into the night. 

Close, close it is pressed to the window, 

As if those childish eyes 
Were looking into the darkness 

To see some form arise. 

And a woman's waving shadow 

Is passing to and fro, 
Now rising to the ceiling, 

Now bowing and bending low. 

What tale do the roaring ocean, 
And the night-wind, bleak and wild, 

As they beat at the crazy casement, 
Tell to that little child ? 

And why do the roaring ocean, 
And the night-wind, wild and bleak, 

As they beat at the heart of the mother 
Drive the color from her cheek ? 

SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT 

Southward with fleet of ice 

Sailed the corsair Death ; 
Wild and fast blew the blast, 

And the east -wind was his breath. 

His lordly ships of ice 

Glisten in the sun ; 
On each side, like pennons wide, 

Flashing crystal streamlets run. 

His sails of white sea-mist 

Dripped with silver rain ; 10 

But where he passed there were cast 

Leaden shadows o'er the main. 

Eastward from Campobello 
Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed ; 

Three days or more seaward he bore, 
Then, alas ! the land-wind failed. 

Alas ! the land-wind failed, 
And ice-cold grew the night ; 



And nevermore, on sea or shore, 
Should Sir Humphrey see the light. 20 

He sat upon the deck, 

The Book was in his hand ; 

"Do not fear! Heaven is as near," 
He said, "by water as by land ! " 

In the first watch of the night, 

Without a signal's sound, 
Out of the sea, mysteriously, 

The fleet of Death rose all around. 

The moon and the evening star 

Were hanging in the shrouds ; 30 

Every mast, as it passed, 
Seemed to rake the passing clouds. 

They grappled with their prize, 
At midnight black and cold ! 

As of a rock was the shock ; 
Heavily the ground-swell rolled. 

Southward through day and dark, 
They drift in close embrace, 

With mist and rain, o'er the open main ; 
Yet there seems no change of place. 40 

Southward, forever southward, 
They drift through dark and day ; 

And like a dream, in the Gulf-Stream 
Sinking, vanish all away. 

THE LIGHTHOUSE 

The rocky ledge runs far into the sea, 
And on its outer point, some miles 
away, 
The Lighthouse lifts its massive ma- 
sonry, 
A pillar of fire by night, of cloud 
by day. 

Even at this distance I can see the 
tides, 
Upheaving, break unheard along its 
base, 
A speechless wrath, that rises and sub- 
sides 
In the white lip and tremor of the 
face. 

And as the evening darkens, lo ! how 
bright, 
Through the deep purple of the 
twilight air, 10 



132 



THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE 



Beams forth the sudden radiance of its 
light 
With strange, unearthly splendor in 
the glare ! 

Not one alone; from each projecting 
cape 
And perilous reef along the ocean's 
verge, 
Starts into life a dim, gigantic shape, 
Holding its lantern o'er the restless 
surge. 

Like the great giant Christopher it 
stands 
Upon the brink of the tempestuous 
wave, 
Wading far out among the rocks and 
sands, 
The night-o'ertaken mariner to save. 

And the great ships sail outward and 
return, 21 

Bending and bowing o'er the bil- 
lowy swells, 
And ever joyful, as they see it burn, 
They wave their silent welcomes 
and farewells. 

They come forth from the darkness, 
and their sails 
Gleam for a moment only in the 
blaze, 
And eager faces, as the light unveils, 
Gaze at the tower, and vanish while 
they gaze. 

The mariner remembers when a child, 

On his first voyage, he saw it fade 

and sink ; 30 

And when, returning from adventures 

wild, 

He saw it rise again o'er ocean's 

brink. 

Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same 
Year after year, through all the 
silent night 
Burns on forevermore that quenchless 
flame, 
. Shines on that inextinguishable 
light! 

It sees the ocean to its bosom clasp 
The rocks and sea-sand with the kiss 
of peace ; 



It sees the wild winds lift it in their 
grasp, 
And hold it up, and shake it like a 
fleece. 4 o 

The startled waves leap over it; the 
storm 
Smites it with all the scourges of the 
rain, 
And steadily against its solid form 
Press the great shoulders of the hur- 
ricane. 

The sea-bird wheeling round it, with 
the din 
Of wings and winds and solitary 
cries, 
Blinded and maddened by the light 
within, 
Dashes himself against the glare, and 
dies. 

A new Prometheus, chained upon the 
rock, 
Still grasping in his hand the fire of 
Jove, 50 

It does not hear the cry, nor heed the 
shock, 
But hails the mariner with words 
of love. 

" Sail on ! " it says, ' ' sail on, ye stately 
ships ! 
And with your floating bridge the 
ocean span ; 
Be mine to guard this light from all 
eclipse, 
Be yours to bring man nearer unto 
man ! " 



THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD 

DEVEREUX FARM, NEAR MARBLEHEAD 

We sat within the farm-house old, 
Whose windows, looking o'er the 
bay, 

Gave to the sea-breeze damp and cold 
An easy entrance, night and day. 

Not far away we saw the port, 

The strange, old-fashioned, silent 
town, 
The lighthouse, the dismantled fort, 
The wooden houses, quaint and 
brown. 



RESIGNATION 



*33 



We sat and talked until the night, 
Descending, filled the little room; 10 

Our faces faded from the sight, 
Our voices only broke the gloom. 

"We spake of many a vanished scene, 
Of what we once had thought and 
said, 
Of what had been, and might have 
been, 
And who was changed, and who was 
dead; 

And all that fills the hearts of friends, 

When first they feel, with secret 

pain, 

Their lives thenceforth have separate 

ends, 

And never can be one again ; 20 

The first slight swerving of the heart, 
That words are powerless to ex- 
press, 

And leave it still unsaid in part, 
Or say it in too great excess. 

The very tones in which we spake 
Had something strange, I could but 
mark; 
The leaves of memory seemed to 
make 
A mournful rustling in the dark. 

Oft died the words upon our lips, 
As suddenly, from out the fire 30 

Built of the wreck of stranded ships, 
The flames would leap and then ex- 
pire. 

And, as their splendor flashed and 
failed, 
We thought of wrecks upon the 
main, 
Of ships dismasted, that were hailed 
And sent no answer back again. 

The windows, rattling in their frames, 
The ocean, roaring up the beach, 

The gusty blast, the bickering flames, 
All mingled vaguely in our speech ; 

Until they made themselves a part 41 
Of fancies floating through the 
brain, 

The long-lost ventures of the heart, 
That send no answers back again. 



O flames that glowed ! O hearts that 
yearned! 
They were indeed too much akin, 
The drift-wood fire without that 
burned, 
The thoughts that burned and 
glowed within. 

BY THE FIRESIDE 

RESIGNATION 

There is no flock, however watched 
and tended, 

# But one dead lamb is there ! 

There is no fireside, howsoe'er de- 
fended, 
But has one vacant chair! 

The air is full of farewells to the dy- 
ing, 
And mournings for the dead ; 
The heart of Rachel, for her children 
crying, 
Will not be comforted ! 

Let us be patient! These severe af- 
flictions 

Not from the ground arise, 10 

But oftentimes celestial benedictions 

Assume this dark disguise. 

We see but dimly through the mists 
and vapors ; 
Amid these earthly damps 
What seem to us but sad, funereal 
tapers 
May be heaven's distant lamps. 

There is no Death ! What seems so is 
transition ; 

This life of mortal breath 
Is but a suburb of the life elysian, 

Whose portal we call Death. 20 

She is not dead, — the child of our 
affection, — 
But gone unto that school 
Where she no longer needs our poor 
protection, 
And Christ himself doth rule. 

In that great cloister's stillness and 
seclusion, 
By guardian angels led, 






134 



THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE 



Safe from temptation, safe from sin's 
pollutiou, 
She lives, whom we call dead. 

Day after day we think what she is 
doing 
In those bright realms of air ; 30 
Year after year, her tender steps pur- 
suing, 
Behold her grown more fair. 

Thus do we walk with her, and keep 
unbroken 
The bond which nature gives, 
Thinking that our remembrance, 
though unspoken, 
May reach her where she lives. 

Not as a child shall we again behold 
her ; 

For when with raptures wild 
In our embraces we again enfold her, 

She will not be a child ; 40 

But a fair maiden, in her Father's 
mansion, 
Clothed with celestial grace ; 
And beautiful with all the soul's ex- 
pansion 
Shall we behold her face. 

And though at times impetuous with 
emotion 
And anguish long suppressed, 
The swelling heart heaves moaning 
like the ocean, 
That cannot be at rest, — 

We will be patient, and assuage the 
feeling 

We may not wholly stay ; 50 

By silence sanctifying, not concealing, 

The grief that must have way. 



THE BUILDERS 

All are architects of Fate, 

Working in these walls of Time ; 
Some with massive deeds and great, 

Some with ornaments of rhyme. 

Nothing useless is, or low ; 

Each thing in its place is best ; 
And what seems but idle show 

Strengthens and supports the rest. 



For the structure that we raise, 
Time is with materials filled ; 

Our to-days and yesterdays 
Are the blocks with which we 
build. 

Truly shape and fashion these ; 

Leave no yawning gaps between; 
Think not, because no man sees, 

Such things will remain unseen. 

In the elder days of Art, 

Builders wrought with greatest 
care 
Each minute and unseen part; 

For the Gods see everywhere. 

Let us do our work as well, 
Both the unseen and the seen ; 

Make the house, where Gods may 
dwell, 
Beautiful, entire, and clean. 

Else our lives are incomplete, 
Standing in these walls of Time, 

Broken stairways, where the feet 
Stumble as they seek to climb. 

Build to-day, then, strong and sure, 
With a firm and ample base ; 

And ascending and secure 
Shall to-morrow find its place. 

Thus alone can we attain 
To those turrets, where the eye 

Sees the world as one vast plain, 
And one boundless reach of sky. 



SAND OF THE DESERT IN AN 
HOUR-GLASS 

A handful of red sand, from the hot 
clime 
Of Arab deserts brought, 
Within this glass becomes the spy of 
Time, 
The minister of Thought. 

How many weary centuries has it 
been 
About those deserts blown ! 
How many strange vicissitudes has 
seen, 
How many histories known ! 



KING WITLAFS DRINKING-HORN 



■3S 



Perhaps the camels of the Ishmaelite 
Trampled and passed it o'er, 10 

When into Egypt from the patriarch's 
sight 
His favorite son they bore. 

Perhaps the feet of Moses, burnt and 
bare, 
Crushed it beneath their tread, 
Or Pharaoh's flashing wheels into the 
air 
Scattered it as they sped ; 

Or Mary, with the Christ of Nazareth 

Held close in her caress, 
Whose pilgrimage of hope and love 
and faith 

Illumed the wilderness ; 20 

Or anchorites beneath Engaddi's 
palms 
Pacing the Dead Sea beach, 
And singing slow their old Armenian 
psalms 
In half -articulate speech ; 

Or caravans, that from Bassora's gate 
With westward steps depart ; 

Or Mecca's pilgrims, confident of Fate, 
And resolute in heart ! 

These have passed over it, or may 
have passed! 
Now in this crystal tower 30 

Imprisoned by some curious hand at 
last, 
It counts the passing hour. 

And as I gaze, these narrow walls ex- 
pand ; — 
Before my dreamy eye 
Stretches the desert with its shifting 
sand, 
Its unimpeded sky. 

And borne aloft by the sustaining 
blast, 

This little golden thread 
Dilates into a column high and vast, 

A form of fear and dread. 40 

And on ward, and across the setting sun, 
Across the boundless plain, 

The column and its broader shadow 
run, 
Till thought pursues in vain. 



The vision vanishes! These walls 
again 

Shut out the lurid sun, 
Shut out the hot, immeasurable plain ; 

The half -hour's sand is run ! 



THE OPEN WINDOW 

The old house by the lindens 

Stood silent in the shade, 
And on the gravelled pathway 

The light and shadow played. 

I saw the nursery windows 

Wide open to the air ; 
But the faces of the children, 

They were no longer there. 

The large Newfoundland house-dog 
Was standing by the door ; 

He looked for his little playmates, 
Who would return no more. 

They walked not under the lindens, 
They played not in the hall ; 

But shadow, and silence, and sadness 
Were hanging over all. 

The birds sang in the branches. 

With sweet, familiar tone ; 
But the voices of the children 

Will be heard in dreams alone ! 

And the boy that walked beside me, 

He could not understand 
Why closer in mine, ah ! closer, 

I pressed his warm, soft hand ! 



KING 



WITLAFS DRINKING- 
HORN 



Witlaf, a king of the Saxons, 
Ere yet his last he breathed, 

To the merry monks of Croyland 
His drinking-horn bequeathed, — 

That, whenever they sat at their 
revels, 

And drank from the golden bowl, 
They might remember the donor, 

And breathe a prayer for his soul. 

So sat they once at Christmas, 
And bade the goblet pass ; 



136 



THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE 



In their beards the red wine glistened 
Like dew-drops in the grass. 

They drank to the soul of Witlaf , 
They drank to Christ the Lord, 

And to each of the Twelve Apostles, 
Who had preached his holy word. 

They drank to the Saints and Martyrs 
Of the dismal days of yore, 

And as soon as the horn was empty 
They remembered one Saint more. 

And the reader droned from the pulpit, 
Like the murmur of many bees, 

The legend of good Saint Guthlac, 
And Saint Basil's homilies ; 

Till the great bells of the convent* 
From their prison in the tower, 

Guthlac and Bartholomseus, 
Proclaimed the midnight hour. 

And the Yule-log cracked in the chim- 
ney, 

And the Abbot bowed his head, 
And the flamelets napped and nickered, 

But the Abbot was stark and dead. 

Yet still in his pallid fingers 
He clutched the golden bowl, 

In which, like a pearl dissolving, 
Had sunk and dissolved his soul. 

But not for this their revels 

The jovial monks forbore, 
For they cried, " Fill high the goblet ! 

We must drink to one Saint more ! " 



GASPAR BECERRA 

By his evening fire the artist 
Pondered o'er his secret shame ; 

Baffled, weary, and disheartened, 
Still he mused, and dreamed of fame. 

*T was an image of the Virgin 
That had tasked his utmost skill ; 

But, alas ! his fair ideal 

Vanished and escaped him still. 

From a distant Eastern island 

Had the precious wood been brought ; 

Day and night the anxious master 
At his toil untiring wrought ; 



Till, discouraged and desponding, 
Sat he now in shadows deep, 

And the day's humiliation 
Found oblivion in sleep. 

Then a voice cried, " Rise, O master! 

From the burning brand of oak 
Shape the thought that stirs within 
thee!" — 

And the startled artist woke, — 

Woke, and from the smoking embers 
Seized and quenched the glowing 
wood ; 

And therefrom he carved an image, 
And he saw that it was good. 

O thou sculptor, painter, poet ! 

Take this lesson to thy heart : 
That is best which lieth nearest ; 

Shape from that thy work of art. 



PEGASUS EST POUND 

Once into a quiet village, 
Without haste and without heed, 

In the golden prime of morning, 
Strayed the poet's winged steed. 

It was Autumn, and incessant 

Piped the quails from shocks and 
sheaves, 

And, like living coals, the apples 
Burned among the withering leaves. 

Loud the clamorous bell was ringing 
From its belfry gaunt and grim ; 10 

'T was the daily call to labor, 
Not a triumph meant for him. 

Not the less he saw the landscape, 
In its gleaming vapor veiled ; 

Not the less he breathed the odors 
That the dying leaves exhaled. 

Thus, upon the village common. 
By the school-boys he was found ; 

And the wise men, in their wisdom, 
Put him straightway into pound. 20 

Then the sombre village crier, 
Ringing loud his brazen bell, 

Wandered down the street proclaim- 
ing 
There was an estray to sell. 



TEGNER'S DRAPA 



*37 



And the curious country people, 
Rich and poor, and young and old, 

Came in haste to see this wondrous 
Winged steed, with mane of gold. 

Thus the day passed, and the evening 
Fell, with vapors cold and dim ; 30 

But it brought no food nor shelter, 
Brought no straw nor stall, for him. 

Patiently, and still expectant, 
Looked he through the wooden bars, 

Saw the moon rise o'er the landscape, 
Saw the tranquil, patient stars ; 

Till at length the bell at midnight 
Sounded from its dark abode, 

And, from out a neighboring farm- 
yard, 
Loud the cock Alectryon crowed. 40 

Then, with nostrils wide distended, 
Breaking from his iron chain, 

And unfolding far his pinions, 
To those stars he soared again. 

On the morrow, when the village 
Woke to all its toil and care, 



Lo ! the strange steed had departed, 
And they knew not when nor where. 

But they found, upon the greensward 

Where his struggling hoofs had 

trod, 50 

Pure and bright, a fountain flowing 
From the hoof-marks in the sod. 

From that hour, the fount unfailing 
Gladdens the whole region round, 

Strengthening all who drink its wa- 
ters, 
While it soothes them with its sound. 



TEGNER'S DRAPA 

I heard a voice, that cried, 

: Balder the Beautiful 

Is dead, is dead ! " 

And through the misty air 

Passed like the mournful cry 

Of sunward sailing cranes. 

I saw the pallid corpse 

Of the dead sun 

Borne through the Northern sky. 




Came in haste to see this wondrous 
Winged steed, with mane of gold " 



138 THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE 


Blasts from Niffelheim 10 


Ye fathers of the new race, 


Lifted the sheeted mists 


Feed upon morning dew, 


Around him as he passed. 


Sing the new Song of Love ! 60 


And the voice forever cried, 


The law of force is dead ! 


" Balder the Beautiful 


The law of love prevails ! 


Is dead, is dead!" 


Thor, the thunderer, 


And died away 


Shall rule the earth no more, 


Through the dreary night, 


No more, with threats, 


In accents of despair. 


Challenge the meek Christ. 


Balder the Beautiful, 


Sing no more, 


God of the summer sun, 20 


ye bards of the North, 


Fairest of all the Gods ! 


Of Vikings and of Jarls! 


Light from his forehead beamed, 


Of the days of Eld 70 


Runes were upon his tongue, 


Preserve the freedom only, 


As on the warrior's sword. 


Not the deeds of blood ! 


All things in earth and air 




Bound were by magic spell 


SONNET 


Never to do him harm ; 




Even the plants and stones ; 


ON MRS. KEMBLE'S READINGS FROM 


All save the mistletoe, 


SHAKESPEARE 


The sacred mistletoe ! 30 


precious evenings ! all too swiftly 
sped! 
Leaving us heirs to amplest herit- 


Hoeder, the blind old God, 


Whose feet are shod with silence, 


ages 


Pierced through that gentle breast 


Of all the best thoughts of the 


With his sharp spear, by fraud, 


greatest sages, 


Made of the mistletoe. 


And giving tongues unto the silent 


The accursed mistletoe ! 


dead! 




How our hearts glowed and trembled 


They laid him in his ship, 


as she read, 


With horse and harness, 


Interpreting by tones the wondrous 


As on a funeral pyre. 


pages 


Odin placed 40 


Of the great poet who foreruns the 


A ring upon his finger, 


ages, 


And whispered in his ear. 


Anticipating all that shall be said! 




happy Reader ! having for thy text 


They launched the burning ship ! 


The magic book, whose Sibylline 


It floated far away 


leaves have caught 


Over the misty sea, 


The rarest essence of all human 


Till like the sun it seemed, 


thought! 


Sinking beneath the waves. 


happy Poet ! by no critic vext ! 


Balder returned no more ! 


How must thy listening spirit now 




rejoice 


So perish the old Gods! 


To be interpreted by such a voice ! 


But out of the sea of Time 50 




Rises a new land of song, 




Fairer than the old. 


THE SINGERS 


Over its meadows green 




Walk the young bards and sing. 


God sent his Singers upon earth 




With songs of sadness and of mirth, 


Build it again, 


That they might touch the hearts of 


ye bards, 


men, 


Fairer than before ! 


And bring them back to heaven again. 



HYMN 



139 



The first, a youth with soul of fire, 
Held in his hand a golden lyre ; 
Through groves he wandered, and by 

streams, 
Playing the music of our dreams. 

The second, with a bearded face, 
Stood singing in the market-place, 
And stirred with accents deep and loud 
The hearts of all the listening crowd. 

A gray old man, the third and last, 
Sang in cathedrals dim and vast, 
While the majestic organ rolled 
Contrition from its mouths of gold. 

And those who heard the Singers three 
Disputed which the best might be ; 
For still their music seemed to start 
Discordant echoes in each heart. 

But the great Master said, " I see 
Ko best in kind, but in degree ; 
I gave a various gift to each, 
To charm, to strengthen, and to teach. 

"These are the three great chords of 

might, 
And he whose ear is tuned aright 
Will hear no discord in the three, 
But the most perfect harmony." 



SUSPIRIA 

Take them, O Death ! and bear away 
Whatever thou canst call thine own ! 

Thine image, stamped upon this clay, 
Doth give thee that, but that alone ! 

Take them, O Grave! and let them 
lie 
Folded upon thy narrow shelves, 



As garments by the soul laid by, 
And precious only to ourselves! 

Take them, O great Eternity ! 

Our little life is but a gust 
That bends the branches of thy tree, 

And trails its blossoms in the dust! 



HYMN 

FOR MY BROTHER'S ORDINATION 

Christ to the young man said : ' ' Yet 
one thing more ; 
If thou wouldst perfect be, 
Sell all thou hast and give it to the 
poor, 
And come and follow me ! " 

Within this temple Christ again, un- 
seen, 
Those sacred words hath said 
And his invisible hands to-day have 
been 
Laid on a young man's head. 

And evermore beside him on his way 
The unseen Christ shall move, 

That he may lean upon his arm and 
say, 
" Dost thou, dear Lord, approve ? " 

Beside him at the marriage feast shall 
be, 

To make the scene more fair ; 
Beside him in the dark Gethsemane 

Of pain and midnight prayer. 

O holy trust ! O endless sense of rest ! 

Like the beloved John 
To lay his head upon the Saviour's 
breast, 

And thus to journey on! 




And he saw a youth approaching 
Dressed in garments green and yellow 



(See p. 153) 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



INTRODUCTION 

Should you ask me, whence these 

stories ? 
Whence these legends and traditions, 
With the odors of the forest, 
With the dew and damp of meadows, 
With the curling smoke of wigwams, 
With the rushing of great rivers, 
With their frequent repetitions, 
And their wild reverberations, 
As of thunder in the mountains ? 



I should answer, I should tell you, 10 
" From the forests and the prairies, 
From the great lakes of the Northland, 
From the land of the O jib ways, 
From the land of the Dacotahs, 
From the mountains, moors, and fen- 

iands 
Where the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
Feeds among the reeds and rushes. 
I repeat them as I heard them 
From the lips of Nawadaha, 
The musician, the sweet singer/' 20 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



141 



Should you ask where Nawadaha 
Found these songs so wild and way- 
ward, . 
Found these legends and traditions, 
I should answer, I should tell you, 
"In the bird's-nests of the forest, 
In the lodges of the beaver, 
In the hoof-prints of the bison, 
In the eyry of the eagle ! 

" All the wild-fowl sang them to 
him, 
In the moorlands and the fen-lands, 30 
In the melancholy marshes ; 
Chetowaik, the plover, sang them, 
Mahng, the loon, the wild-goose, 

Wawa, 
The blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
And the grouse, the Mushkodasa!" 

If still further you should ask me, 
Saying, " Who wasNawadaha? 
Tell us of this Nawadaha," 
I should answer your inquiries 
Straightway in such words as follow. 

"In the vale of Tawasentha, 41 

In the green and silent valley, 
By the pleasant water-courses, 
Dwelt the singer Nawadaha. 
Round about the Indian village 
Spread the meadows and the corn- 
fields, 
And beyond them stood the forest, 
Stood the groves of singing pine-trees, 
Green in Summer, white in Winter, 
Ever sighing, ever singing. 50 

"And the pleasant water- courses, 
You could trace them through the val- 
ley, 
By the rushing in the Spring-time, 
By the alders in the Summer, 
By the white fog in the Autumn, 
By the black line in the Winter ; 
And beside them dwelt the singer, 
In the vale of Tawasentha, 
In the green and silent valley. 

" There he sang of Hiawatha, 60 
Sang the Song of Hiawatha, 
Sang his wondrous birth and being, 
How he prayed and how he fasted, 
How he lived, and toiled, and suffered, 
That the tribes of men might prosper, 
That he might advance his people! " 

Ye who love the haunts of Nature, 
Love the sunshine of the meadow, 
Love the shadow of the forest, 
Love the wind among the branches, 70 



And the rain -shower and the snow- 
storm, 
And the rushing of great rivers 
Through their palisades of pine-trees, 
And the thunder in the mountains, 
Whose innumerable echoes 
Flap like eagles in their eyries ; — 
Listen to these wild traditions, 
To this Song of Hiawatha ! 

Ye who love a nation's legends, 
Love the ballads of a people, 80 

That like voices from afar off 
Call to us to pause and listen, 
Speak in tones so plain and child- 
like, 
Scarcely can the ear distinguish 
Whether they are sung or spoken ; — 
Listen to this Indian Legend, 
To this Song of Hiawatha ! 
Ye whose hearts are fresh and sim- 
ple, 
Who have faith in God and Nature, 
Who believe that in all ages 90 

Every human heart is human, 
That in even savage bosoms 
There are longings, yearnings, striv- 
ings 
For the good they comprehend not, 
That the feeble hands and helpless, 
Groping blindly in the darkness, 
Touch God's right hand in that dark- 
ness 
And are lifted up and strength- 
ened ; — 
Listen to this simple story, 
To this Song of Hiawatha! 100 

Ye, who sometimes, in your ram- 
bles 
Through the green lanes of the coun- 
try, 
Where the tangled barberry -bushes 
Hang their tufts of crimson berries 
Over stone walls gray with mosses, 
Pause by some neglected graveyard, 
For a while to muse, and ponder 
On a half -effaced inscription, 
Written with little skill of song- 
craft, 
Homely phrases, but each letter no 
Full of hope and yet of heart-break, 
Full of all the tender pathos 
Of the Here and the Hereafter ; — 
Stay and read this rude inscrip- 
tion, 
Read this Song of Hiawatha ! 



( r 



142 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



THE PEACE-PIPE 

On the Mountains of the Prairie, 
On the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry, 
Gitche Manito, the mighty, 
He the Master of Life, descending, 
On the red crags of the quarry 
Stood erect, and called the nations, 
Called the tribes of men together. 

From his footprints flowed a river, 
Leaped into the light of morniug, 
O'er the precipice plunging down- 
ward 10 
Gleamed like Ishkoodah, the comet. ' 
And the Spirit, stooping earthward, 
With his finger on the meadow 
Traced a winding pathway for it, 
Saying to it, "Run in this way! " 

From the red stone of the quarry 
With his hand he broke a fragment, 
Moulded it into a pipe-head, 
Shaped and fashioned it with figures ; 
From the margin of the river 20 

Took a long reed for a pipe-stem. 
With its dark green leaves upon it ; 
Filled the pipe with bark of willow, 
With the bark of the red willow ; 
Breathed upon the neighboring forest, 
Made its great boughs chafe together, 
Till in flame they burst and kindled ; 
And erect upon the mountains, 
Gitche Manito, the mighty, 
Smoked the calumet, the Peace-Pipe, 
As a signal to the nations. 31 

And the smoke rose slowly, slowly, 
Through the tranquil air of morning, 
First a single line of darkness, 
Then a denser, bluer vapor, 
Then a snow-white cloud unfolding, 
Like the tree- tops of the forest, 
Ever rising, rising, rising, 
Till it touched the top of heaven, 
Till it broke against the heaven, 40 
And rolled outward all around it. 

From the Vale of Tawasentha, 
From the Valley of Wyoming, 
From the groves of Tuscaloosa, 
From the far-off Rocky Mountains, 
From the Northern lakes and rivers 
All the tribes beheld the signal, 
Saw the distant smoke ascending, 
The Pukwana of the Peace-Pipe. 

And the Prophets of the nations 50 
Said: " Behold it, the Pukwana! 



By this signal from afar off, 
Bending like a wand of willow, 
Waving like a hand that beckons, 
Gitche Manito, the mighty, 
Calls the tribes of men together, 
Calls the warriors to his council! " 

Down the rivers, o'er the prairies, 
Came the warriors of the nations, 
Came the Delawares and Mohawks, 60 
Came the Choctaws and Camanches, 
Came the Shoshonies and Blackfeet, 
Came the Pawnees and Omahas, 
Came the Mandans and Dacotahs, 
Came the Hurons and Ojibways, 
All the warriors drawn together 
By the signal of the Peace-Pipe, 
To the Mountains of the Prairie, 
To the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry. 

And they stood there on the mea- 
dow, 70 
With their weapons and their war- 
gear, 
Painted like the leaves of Autumn, 
Painted like the sky of morning, 
Wildly glaring at each other ; 
In their faces stern defiance, 
In their hearts the feuds of ages, 
The hereditary hatred, 
The ancestral thirst of vengeance. 

Gitche Manito, the mighty, 
The creator of the nations, 80 

Looked upon them with compassion, 
With paternal love and pity ; 
Looked upon their wrath and wran- 
gling 
But as quarrels among children, 
But as feuds and fights of children ! 

Over them he stretched his right 
hand, 
To subdue their stubborn natures, 
To allay their thirst and fever, 
By the shadow of his right hand; 
Spake to them with voice majestic 90 
As the sound of far-off waters, 
Falling into deep abysses, 
Warning, chiding, spake in this 
wise : — 

"O my children! my poor chil- 
dren! 
Listen to the words of wisdom, 
Listen to the words of warning, 
From the lips of the Great Spirit, 
From the Master of Life, who made 
you! 

"I have given you lands to hunt 
in, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



143 



I have given you streams to fish in, io( 
I have given you bear and bison, 
I have given you roe and reindeer, 
I have given you brant and beaver, 
Filled the marshes full of wild-fowl, 
Filled the rivers full of fishes ; 
Why then are you not contented ? 
Why then will you hunt each other ? 



' ' I will send a Prophet to you, 
A Deliverer of the nations, 
Who shall guide you and shall teach 

you, 
Who shall toil and suffer with you. 
If you listen to his counsels, 120 

You will multiply and prosper; 
If his warnings pass unheeded, 




" Waving like a band that beckons 



"I am weary of your quarrels, 108 
Weary of your wars and bloodshed, 
Weary of your prayers for vengeance, 
Of your wranglings and dissensions; 
All your strength is in your union, 
All your danger is in discord ; 
Therefore be at peace henceforward, 
And as brothers live together. 



You will fade away and perish ! 
"Bathe now in the stream before 
you, 

Wash the war-paint from your faces, 

Wash the blood -stains from your fin- 
gers, 

Bury your war-clubs and your weap- 
ons, 



144 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Break the red stone from this quarry, 
Mould and make it into Peace -Pi pes, 
Take the reeds that grow beside you, 
Deck them with your brightest feath- 
ers, 131 
Smoke the calumet together, 
And as brothers live henceforward ! " 

Then upon the ground the warriors 
Threw their cloaks and shirts of deer- 
skin, 
Threw their weapons and their war- 
gear, 
Leaped into the rushing river, 
Washed the war-paint from their faces. 
Clear above them flowed the water, 
Clear and limpid from the footprints 
Of the Master of Life descending ; 141 
Dark below them flowed the water, 
Soiled and stained with streaks of 

crimson, 
As if blood were mingled with it ! 

From the river came the warriors, 
Clean and washed from all their war- 
paint ; 
On the banks their clubs they buried, 
Buried all their warlike weapons. 
Gitche Manito, the mighty, 
The Great Spirit, the creator, 150 

Smiled upon his helpless children ! 

And in silence all the warriors 
Broke the red stone of the quarry, 
Smoothed and formed it into Peace - 

Pipes, 
Broke the long reeds by the river, 
Decked them with their brightest 

feathers, 
And departed each one homeward, 
While the Master of Life, ascending, 
Through the opening of cloud-cur- 
tains, 
Through the doorways of the heaven, 
Vanished from before their faces, 161 
In the smoke that rolled around him, 
The Pukwana of the Peace-Pipe ! 



THE FOUR WINDS 

" Honor be to Mudjekeewis!" 
Cried the warriors, cried the old men, 
When he came in triumph homeward 
With the sacred Belt of Wampum, 
From the regions of the North- Wind, 
From the kingdom of Wabasso, 
From the land of the White Rabbit. 



He had stolen the Belt of Wampum 
From the neck of Mishe-Mokwa, 
From the Great Bear of the mountains, 
From the terror of the nations, n 

As he lay asleep and cumbrous 
On the summit of the mountains, 
Like a rock with mosses on it, 
Spotted brown and gray with mosses. 

Silently he stole upon him 
Till the red nails of the monster 
Almost touched him, almost scared 

him, 
Till the hot breath of his nostrils 
Warmed the hands of Mudjekeewis, 20 
As he drew the Belt of Wampum 
Over the round ears, that heard not, 
Over the small eyes, that saw not, 
Over the long nose and nostrils, 
The black muffle of the nostrils, 
Out of which the heavy breathing 
Warmed the hands of Mudjekeewis. 

Then he swung aloft his war-club, 
Shouted loud and long his war-cry, 
Smote the mighty Mishe-Mokwa 30 
In the middle of the forehead, 
Right between the eyes he smote him. 

With the heavy blow bewildered, 
Rose the Great Bear of the mountains ; 
But his knees beneath him trembled, 
And he whimpered like a woman, 
As he reeled and staggered forward, 
As he sat upon his haunches ; 
And the mighty Mudjekeewis, 
Standing fearlessly before him, 40 

Taunted him in loud derision, 
Spake disdainfully in this wise : — 

' ' Hark you, Bear! you are a coward ; 
And no Brave, as you pretended ; 
Else you would not cry and whimper 
Like a miserable woman ! 
Bear ! you know our tribes are hostile. 
Long have been at war together ; 
Now you find that we are strongest, 
You go sneaking in the forest, 50 

You go hiding in the mountains! 
Had you conquered me in battle 
Not a groan would I have uttered: 
But you, Bear ! sit here and whimper, 
And disgrace your tribe by crying, 
Like a wretched Shaugodaya, 
Like a cowardly old woman ! " 

Then again he raised his war-club, 
Smote again the Mishe-Mokwa 
In the middle of his forehead, 60 

Broke his skull, as ice is broken 
When one goes to fish in Winter. 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



145 



Thus was slain the Mishe-Mokwa, 
He the Great Bear of the mountains, 
He the terror of the nations. 

' ' Honor be to Mud j ekeewis ! " 
With a shout exclaimed the people, 
"Honor be to Mud j ekeewis ! 
Henceforth he shall be the West- Wind, 
And hereafter and forever 70 

Shall he hold supreme dominion 
Over all the winds of heaven. 
Call him no more Mud j ekeewis, 
Call him Kabeyun, the West-Wind!" 

Thus was Mud j ekeewis chosen 
Father of the Winds of Heaven. 
For himself he kept the West- Wind, 
Gave the others to his children ; 
Unto Wabun gave the East-Wind, 
Gave the South to Shawondasee, 80 
And the North- Wind, wild and cruel, 
To the fierce Kabibonokka. 

Young and beautiful was Wabun ; 
He it was who brought the morning, 
He it was whose silver arrows 
Chased the dark o'er hill and valley ; 
He it was whose cheeks were painted 
With the brightest streaks of crim- 
son, 
And whose voice awoke the village, 
Called the deer, and called the hunter. 

Lonely in the sky was Wabun ; 90 
Though the birds sang gayly to him, 
Though the wild-flowers of the mea- 
dow 
Filled the air with odors for him ; 
Though the forests and the rivers 
Sang and shouted at his coming, 
Still his heart was sad within him, 
For he was alone in heaven. 

But one morning, gazing earthward,, 
While the village still wassleeping, 100 
And the fog lay on the river, 
Like a ghost, that goes at sunrise, 
He beheld a maiden walking 
All alone upon a meadow, 
Gathering water-flags and rushes 
By a river in the meadow. 

Every morning, gazing earthward. 
Still the first thing he beheld there 
Was her blue eyes looking at him, 
Two blue lakes among the rushes, no 
And he loved the lonely maiden, 
Who thus waited for his coming; 
For they both were solitary, 
She on earth and he in heaven. 

And he wooed her with caresses, 
Wooed her with his smile of sunshine, 



With his flattering words he wooed 

her, 
With his sighing and his singing, 
Gentlest whispers in the branches, 
Softest music, sweetest odors, 120 

Till he drew her to his bosom, 
Folded in his robes of crimson, 
Till into a star he changed her, 
Trembling still upon his bosom ; 
And forever in the heavens 
They are seen together walking, 
Wabun and the Wabun-Annung, 
Wabun and the Star of Morning. 

But the fierce Kabibonokka 
Had his dwelling among icebergs, 130 
In the everlasting snow-drifts, 
In the kingdom of Wabasso, 
In the land of the White Rabbit. 
He it was whose hand in Autumn 
Painted all the trees with scarlet. 
Stained the leaves with red and yel- 
low; 
He it was who sent the snow-flakes, 
Sifting, hissing through the forest, 
Froze the ponds, the lakes, the rivers, 
Drove the loon and sea-gull south- 
ward, 140 
Drove the cormorant and curlew 
To their nests of sedge and sea-tang 
In the realms of Shawondasee. 
Once the fierce Kabibonokka 
Issued from his lodge of snow-drifts, 
From his home among the icebergs, 
And his hair, with snow besprinkled, 
Streamed behind him like a river, 
Like a black and wintry river, 
As he howled and hurried southward. 
Over frozen lakes and moorlands. 151 

There among the reeds and rushes 
Found he Shingebis, the diver, 
Trailing strings of fish behind him, 
O'er the frozen fens and moorlands, 
Lingering still among the moorlands, 
Though his tribe had long departed 
To the land of Shawondasee. 

Cried the fierce Kabibonokka, 
"Who is this that dares to brave 
me? 160 

Dares to stay in my dominions, 
When the Wawa has departed, 
When the wild-goose has gone south- 
ward, 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
Long ago departed southward ? 
I will go into his wigwam, 
I will put his smouldering fire out! " 



146 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



And at night Kabibonokka 
To the lodge came wild and wailing, 
Heaped the snow in drifts about it, 170 
Shouted down into the smoke-flue, 
Shook the lodge-poles in his fury, 
Flapped the curtain of the door- way. 
Shiugebis, the diver, feared not, 
Shingebis, the diver, cared not ; 
Four great logs had he for firewood, 
One for each moon of the winter, 
And for food the fishes served him. 
By his blazing fire he sat there, 
Warm and merry, eating, laugh- 
ing, 180 
Singing, " O Kabibonokka, 
You are but my fellow-mortal! " 

Then Kabibonokka entered, 
And though Shingebis, the diver, 
Felt his presence by the coldness, 
Felt his icy breath upon him, 
Still he did not cease his singing, 
Still he did not leave his laughing, 
Only turned the log a little, 
Only made the fire burn brighter, 190 
Made the sparks fly up the smoke flue. 

From Kabibonokka's forehead, 
From his snow-besprinkled tresses, 
Drops of sweat fell fast and heavy, 
Making dints upon the ashes, 
As along the eaves of lodges, 
As from drooping boughs of hemlock, 
Drips the melting snow in spring-time, 
Making hollows in the snow-drifts. 

Till at last he rose defeated, 200 

Could not bear the heat and laughter, 
Could not bear the merry singing, 
But rushed headlong through the 

door- way, 
Stamped upon the crusted snow-drifts. 
Stamped upon the lakes and rivers, 
Made the snow upon them harder, 
Made the ice upon them thicker, 
Challenged Shingebis, the diver, 
To come forth and wrestle with him, 
To come forth and wrestle naked 210 
On the frozen fens and moorlands. 

Forth went Shingebis, the diver, 
Wrestled all night with the North- 
Wind, 
Wrestled naked in the woodlands 
With the fierce Kabibonokka, 
Till his panting breath grew fainter, 
Till his frozen grasp grew feebler, 
Till he reeled and staggered backward, 
And retreated, baffled, beaten, 
To the kingdom of Wabasso, 220 



To the land of the White Rabbit, 
Hearing still the gusty laughter, 
Hearing Shingebis, the diver, 
Singing, ' ' O Kabibonokka, 
You are but my fellow -mortal! " 

Shawondasee, fat and lazy, 
Had his dwelling far to southward, 
In the drowsy, dreamy sunshine, 
In the never-ending Summer. 
He it was who sent the wood-birds, 230 
Sent the robin, the Opechee, 
Sent the bluebird, the Owaissa, 
Sent the Shawshaw, sent the swallow, 
Sent the wild-goose, Wawa, north- 
ward, 
Sent the melons and tobacco, 
And the grapes in purple clusters. 

From his pipe the smoke ascending 
Filled the sky with haze and vapor, 
Filled the air with dreamy softness, 
Gave a twinkle to the water, 240 

Touched the rugged hills with smooth- 
ness, 
Brought the tender Indian Summer 
To the melancholy north-land, 
In the dreary Moon of Snow-shoes. 

Listless, careless Shawondasee! 
In his life he had one shadow, 
In his heart one sorrow had he. 
Once, as he was gazing northward, 
Far away upon a prairie 
He beheld a maiden standing, 250 

Saw a tall and slender maiden 
All alone upon a prairie; 
Brightest green were all her garments, 
And her hair was like the sunshine. 

Day by day he gazed upon her, 
Day by day he sighed with passion, 
Day by day his heart within him 
Grew more hot with love and longing 
For the maid with yellow tresses. 
But he was too fat and lazy 260 

To bestir himself and woo her. 
Yes, too indolent and easy 
To pursue her and persuade her; 
So he only gazed upon her, 
Only sat and sighed with passion 
For the maiden of the prairie. 

Till one morning, looking north- 
ward, 
He beheld her yellow tresses 
Changed and covered o'er with white- 
ness, 
Covered as with whitest snow-flakes. 
"Ah! my brother from the North- 
land, 271 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



147 



From the kingdom of Wabasso, 
From the land of the White Rabbit ! 
You have stolen the maiden from me, 
You have laid your hand upon her, 
You have wooed and won my maiden, 
With your stories of the North-land! " 

Thus the wretched Shawondasee 
Breathed into the air his sorrow ; 
And the South-Wind o'er the prairie 280 
Wandered warm with sighs of passion, 
With the sighs of Shawondasee, 
Till the air seemed full of snow-flakes, 
Full of thistle-down the prairie, 
And the maid with hair like sunshine 
Vanished from his sight forever ; 
Never more did Shawondasee 
See the maid with yellow tresses ! 

Poor, deluded Shawondasee! 
'T was no woman that you gazed at, 290 
'T was no maiden that you sighed for, 
'T was the prairie dandelion 
That through all the dreamy Summer 
You bad gazed at with such longing, 
You had sighed for with such passion, 
And had puffed away forever, 
Blown into the air with sighing. 
Ah ! deluded Shawondasee ! 

Thus the Four Winds were divided ; 
Thus the sons of Mudjekeewis 300 
Had their stations in the heavens, 
At the corners of the heavens ; 
For himself the West- Wind only 
Kept the mighty Mudjekeewis/ 

III 

hiawatha's childhood 

Downward through the evening twi- 
light, 
In the days that are forgotten, 
In the unremembered ages, 
From the full moon fell Nokomis, 
Fell the beautiful Nokomis, 
She a wife, but not a mother. 

She was sporting with her women, 
Swinging in a swing of grape-vines, 
When her rival the rejected, 
Full of jealousy and hatred, 10 

Cut the leafy swing asunder, 
Out in twain the twisted grape-vines, 
And Nokomis fell affrighted 
Downward through the evening twi- 
light, 
On the Muskoday, the meadow, 
On the prairie full of blossoms. 



" See ! a star falls!" said the people; 
"From the sky a star is falling ! " 

There among the ferns and mosses, 
There among the prairie lilies, 20 

On the Muskoday, the meadow, 
In the moonlight and the starlight, 
Fair Nokomis bore a daughter. 
And she called her name Wenonah, 
As the first-born of her daughters. 
And the daughter of Nokomis 
Grew up like the prairie lilies, 
Grew a tall and slender maiden, 
With the beauty of the moonlight, 
With the beauty of the starlight. 30 

And Nokomis warned her often, 
Saying oft, and oft repeating, 
" Oh, beware of Mudjekeewis, 
Of the West-Wind, Mudjekeewis ; 
Listen not to what he tells you ; 
Lie not down upon the meadow, 
Stoop not down among the lilies, 
Lest the West- Wind come and harm 
you ! " 

But she heeded not the warning, 
Heeded not those words of wisdom, 40 
And the West- Wind came at evening, 
Walking lightly o'er the prairie, 
Whispering to the leaves and blos- 
soms, 
Bending low the flowers and grasses, 
Found the beautiful Wenonah, 
Lying there among the lilies, 
Wooed her with his words of sweet- 
ness, 
Wooed her with his soft caresses, 
Till she bore a son in sorrow, 
Bore a son of love and sorrow. 50 

Thus was born my Hiawatha, 
Thus was born the child of wonder ; 
But the daughter of Nokomis, 
Hiawatha's gentle mother, 
In her anguish died deserted 
By the West-Wind, false and faithless, 
By the heartless Mudjekeewis, 

For her daughter long and loudly 
Wailed and wept the sad Nokomis; 
"Oh that I were dead!" she mur- 
mured, 60 
"Oh that I were dead, as thou art! 
No more work, and no more weeping, 
Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! " 

By the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
By the shining Big-Sea- Water, 
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis, 
Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis. 
Dark behind it rose the forest, 



148 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees, 
Rose the lirs with cones upon them ; 70 
Bright before it beat the water, 
Beat the clear and sunny water, 
Beat the shining Big-Sea- Water. 

There the wrinkled old Nokomis 
Nursed the little Hiawatha, 
Rocked him in his linden cradle, 
Bedded soft in moss and rushes. 
Safely bound with reindeer sinews ; 
Stilled his fretful wail by saying, 
"Hush! the Naked Bear will hear 
thee!" 80 

Lulled him into slumber, singing, 
"Ewa-yea! my little owlet ! 
Who is this, that lights the wigwam? 
With his great eyes lights the wig- 
wam ? 
Ewa-yea ! my little owlet ! " 

Many things Nokomis taught him 
Of the stars that shine in heaven ; 
Showed him Ishkoodah, the comet, 
Ishkoodah, with fiery tresses ; 
Showed the Death-Dance of the 
spirits, 90 

Warriors with their plumes and war- 
clubs, 
Flaring far away to northward 
In the frosty nights of Winter ; 
Showed the broad white road in hea- 
ven, 
Pathway of the ghosts, the shadows, 
Running straight across the heavens, 
Crowded with the ghosts, the shad- 
ows. 
At the door on summer evenings 
Sat the little Hiawatha ; 
Heard the whispering of the pine- 
trees, 100 
Heard the lapping of the waters, 
Sounds of music, words of wonder ; 
" Minne-wawa ! " said the pine-trees, 
"Mudway-aushka!" said the water. 
Saw the fire-fly, Wah-wah-taysee, 
Flitting through the dusk of evening, 
With the twinkle of its candle 
Lighting up the brakes and bushes, 
And he sang the song of children, 
Sang the song Nokomis taught him : 
" Wah-wah-taysee, little fire-fly, m 
Little, flitting, white-fire insect, 
Little, dancing, white-fire creature, 
Light me with your little candle, 
Ere upon my bed I lay me, 
Ere in sleep I close my eyelids ! " 
Saw the moon rise from the water 



Rippling, rounding from the water, 
Saw the flecks and shadows on it, 
Whispered, " What is that, Noko- 
mis ? " 120 

And the good Nokomis answered : 
' ' Once a warrior, very angry, 
Seized his grandmother, and threw 

her 
Up into the sky at midnight ; 
Right against the moon he threw her ; 
'Tis her body that you see there." 
Saw the rainbow in the heaven, 
In the eastern sky, the rainbow, 
Whispered, "What is that, Noko- 

mis ? " 
And the good Nokomis answered : 130 
"'Tis the heaven of flowers you see 

there ; 
All the wild-flowers of the forest, 
All the lilies of the prairie, 
When on earth they fade and perish, 
Blossom in that heaven above us." 
When he heard the owls at mid- 
night, 
Hooting, laughing in the forest, 
" What is that ? " he cried in terror, 
"What is that," he said, "Nokomis?" 
And the good Nokomis answered: 140 
"That is but the owl and owlet, 
Talking in their native language, 
Talking, scolding at each other." 

Then the little Hiawatha 
Learned of every bird its language, 
Learned their names and all their se- 
crets, 
How they built their nests in Sum- 
mer, 
Where they hid themselves in Winter, 
Talked with them whene'er he met 

them, 
Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens." 
Of all beasts he learned the lan- 
guage, 151 
Learned their names and. all their se- 
crets, 
How the beavers built their lodges,. 
Where the squirrels hid their acorns, 
How the reindeer ran so swiftly, 
Why the rabbit was so timid, 
Talked with them whene'er he met 

them, 
Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers." 

Then Iagoo, the great boaster, 
He the marvellous story-teller, 160 

He the traveller and the talker, 
He the friend of old Nokomis, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



149 



Made a bow for Hiawatha ; 
From a branch of ash he made it, 
From an oak-bough made the arrows, 
Tipped with flint, and winged with 

feathers, 
And the cord he made of deer-skin. 

Then he said to Hiawatha : 
" Go, my son, into the forest, 
Where the red deer herd together, 170 
Kill for us a famous roebuck, 
Kill for us a deer with antlers ! " 

Forth into the forest straightway 
All alone walked Hiawatha 
Proudly, with his bow and arrows ; 
And the birds sang round him, o'er 

him, 
''Do not shoot us, Hiawatha! " 
Sang the robin, the Opechee, 
Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, 
" Do not shoot us, Hiawatha ! " 180 

Up the oak-tree, close beside him, 
Sprang the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
In and out among the branches, 
Coughed and chattered from the oak- 
tree, 
Laughed, and said between his laugh- 
ing, 
" Do not shoot me, Hiawatha! " 

And the rabbit from his pathway 
Leaped aside, and at a distance 
Sat erect upon his haunches, 
Half in fear and half in frolic, ^90 

Saying to the little hunter, 
"* Do not shoot me, Hiawatha! " 

But he heeded not, nor heard them, 
For his thoughts were with the red 

deer ; 
On their tracks his eyes were fastened, 
Leading downward to the river, 
To the ford across the river, 
And as one in slumber walked he. 

Hidden in the alder-bushes, 
There he waited till the deer came, 200 
Till he saw two antlers lifted, 
Saw two eyes look from the thicket, 
Saw two nostrils point to windward, 
And a deer came down the pathway, 
Flecked with leafy light and shadow. 
And his heart within him fluttered, 
Trembled like the leaves above him, 
Like the birch-leaf palpitated, 
As the deer came down the pathway. 

Then, upon one knee uprising, 210 
Hiawatha aimed an arrow ; 
Scarce a twig moved with his motion, 
Scarce a leaf was stirred or rustled, 



But the wary roebuck started, 
Stamped with all his hoofs together, 
Listened with one foot uplifted, 
Leaped as if to meet the arrow ; 
Ah 1 the singing, fatal arrow, 
Like a wasp it buzzed and stung him! 
Dead he lay there in the forest, 320 
By the ford across the river ; 
Beat his timid heart no longer, 
But the heart of Hiawatha 
Throbbed and shouted and exulted, 
As he bore the red deer homeward, 
And Iagoo and Nokomis 
Hailed his coming with applauses. 

From the red deer's hide Nokomis 
Made a cloak for Hiawatha, 
From the red deer's flesh Nokomis 230 
Made a banquet to his honor. 
All the village came and feasted, 
All the guests praised Hiawatha, 
Called him Strong-Heart, Soan-ge- 

taha ! 
Called him Loon-Heart, Mahn-go-tay- 

see! 

IV 

HIAWATHA AND MUDJEKEEWIS 

Out of childhood into manhood 
Now had grown my Hiawatha, 
Skilled in all the craft of hunters, 
Learned in all the lore of old men, 
In all youthful sports and pastimes, 
In all manly arts and labors. 

Swift of foot was Hiawatha ; 
He could shoot an arrow from him, 
And run forward with such fleetness, 
That the arrow fell behind him ! 10 
Strong of arm was Hiawatha ; 
He could shoot ten arrows upward, 
Shoot them with such strength and 

swiftness, 
That the tenth had left the bow-string 
Ere the first to earth had fallen ! 

He had mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Magic mittens made of deer-skin; 
When upon his hands he wore them, 
He could smite the rocks asunder, 
He could grind them into powder. 20 
He had moccasins enchanted, 
Magic moccasins of deer-skin ; 
When he bound them round his 

ankles, 
When upon his feet he tied them, 
At each stride a mile he measured ! 



i5° 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Much he questioned old Nokomis 
Of his father Mudjekeewis; 
Learned from her the fatal secret 
Of the beauty of his mother, 
Of the falsehood of his father ; 30 

And his heart was hot within him, 
Like a living coal his heart was. 
Then he said to old Nokomis, 
"I will go to Mudjekeewis, 
See how fares it with my father, 
At the doorways of the West-Wind, 
At the portals of the Sunset ! " 

From his lodge went Hiawatha, 
Dressed for travel, armed for hunting ; 
Dressed in deer-skin shirt and leg- 
gings, 40 
Richly wrought with quills and wam- 
pum ; 
On his head his eagle-feathers, 
Round his waist his belt of wampum, 
In his hand his bow of ash-wood, 
Strung with sinews of the reindeer; 
In his quiver oaken arrows, 
Tipped with jasper, winged with 

feathers ; 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
With his moccasins enchanted. 

Warning said the old Nokomis, 50 
" Go not forth, O Hiawatha! 
To the kingdom of the West-Wind, 
To the realms of Mudjekeewis, 
Lest he harm you with his magic. 
Lest he kill you with his cunning ! " 

But the fearless Hiawatba 
Heeded not her woman's warning ; 
Forth he strode into the forest, 
At each stride a mile he measured; 
Lurid seemed the sky above him, 60 
Lurid seemed the earth beneath him, 
Hot and close the air around him, 
Filled with smoke and fiery vapors^ 
As of burning woods and prairies, 
For his heart was hot within him, 
Like a living coal his heart was. 
So he journeyed westward, west- 
ward, 
Left the fleetest deer behind him, 
Left the antelope and bison ; 
Crossed the rushing Esconaba, 70 

Crossed the mighty Mississippi, 
Passed the Mountains of the Prairie, 
Passed the land of Crows and Foxes, 
Passed the dwellings of the Blackf eet, 
Came unto the Rocky Mountains, 
To the kingdom of the West- Wind, 
Where upon the gusty summits 



Sat the ancient Mudjekeewis, 
Ruler of the winds of heaven. 

Filled with awe was Hiawatha 80 
At the aspect of his father. 
On the ajr about him wildly 
Tossed and streamed his cloudy tresses, 
Gleamed like drifting snow his tresses, 
Glared like Ishkoodah, the comet, 
Like the star with fiery tresses. 

Filled with joy was Mudjekeewis 
When he looked on Hiawatha, 
Saw his youth rise up before him, 
In the face of Hiawatha. 90 

Saw the beauty of Wenonah 
From the grave rise up before him. 

" Welcome!" said he, " Hiawatha, 
To the kingdom of the West- Wind! 
Long have I been waiting for you! 
Youth is lovely, age is lonely, 
Youth is fiery, age is frosty ; 
You bring back the days departed, 
You bring back my youth of passion, 
And the beautiful Wenonah! " 100 

Many days they talked together, 
Questioned, listened, waited, an- 
swered ; 
Much the mighty Mudjekeewis 
Boasted of his ancient prowess, 
Of his perilous adventures, 
His indomitable courage, 
His invulnerable body. 

Patiently sat Hiawatha, 
Listening to his father's boasting ; 
With a smile he sat and listened, no 
Uttered neither threat nor menace, 
Neither word nor look betrayed him, 
But his heart was hot within him, 
Like a living coal his heart was. 

Then he said, "O Mudjekeewis, 
Is there nothing that can harm you? 
Nothing that you are afraid of ? " 
And the mighty Mudjekeewis, n8 

Grand and gracious in his boasting, 
Answered, saying, "There is nothing, 
Nothing but the black rock yonder, 
Nothing but the fatal Wawbeek ! " 

And he looked at Hiawatha 
With a wise look and benignant, 
With a countenance paternal, 
Looked with pride upon the beauty 
Of his tall and graceful figure, 
Saying, " O my Hiawatha! 
Is there anything can harm you ? 
Anything you are afraid of ? " 130 

But the wary Hiawatha 
Paused awhile, as if uncertain, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



151 



Held his peace, as if resolving, 
And then answered, "There is no- 
thing, 
Nothing but the bulrush yonder, 
Nothing but the great Apukwa ! " 

And as Mudjekeewis, rising, 
Stretched his hand to pluck the bul- 
rush, 
Hiawatha cried in terror, 
Cried in well-dissembled terror, 140 
" Kago! kago ! do not touch it!" 
" Ah, kaween! " said Mudjekeewis, 
" No indeed, I will not touch it! " 



Took her young life and her beauty, 
Broke the Lily of the Prairie, 
Trampled it beneath* your footsteps; 
You confess it ! you confess it ! " 
And the mighty Mudjekeewis 160 

Tossed upon the wind his tresses, 
Bowed his hoary head in anguish. 
With a silent nod assented. 

Then up started Hiawatha, 
And with threatening look and ges- 
ture 
Laid his hand upon the black rock, 
On the fatal Wawbeek laid it, 




" Glared like Ishkoodah, the comet, 
Like the star with fiery tresses " 



Then they talked of other matters 
First of Hiawatha's brothers. 
First of Wabun. of the East- Wind, 
Of the South- Wind. Shawondasee, 
Of the North, Kabibonokka ; 
Then of Hiawatha's mother, 
Of the beautiful Wenonah, ij 

Of her birth upon the meadow, 
Of her death, as old Nokomis 
Had remembered and related. 

And he Cried, " O Mudjekeewis, 
It was you who killed Wenonah, 



With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Rent the jutting crag asunder, 
Smote and crushed it into fragments, 
Hurled them madly at his father, 171 
The remorseful Mudjekeewis, 
For his heart was hot within him, 
Like a living coal his heart was. 

But the ruler of the West-Wind 
Blew the fragments backward from 

him, 
With the breathing of his nostrils, 
With the tempest of his anger, 



152 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Blew them back at his assailant ; 
Seized the bulrush, the Apukwa, 180 
Dragged it with Its roots and fibres 
From the margin of the meadow, 
From its ooze the giant bulrush ; 
Long and loud laughed Hiawatha ! 

Then began the deadly conflict, 
Hand to hand among the mountains; 
From his eyry screamed the eagle, 
The Keneu, the great war-eagle, 
Bat upon the crags around them, 
Wheeling flapped his wings above 
them. 190 

Like a tall tree in the tempest 
Bent and lashed the giant bulrush ; 
And in masses huge and heavy 
Crashing fell the fatal Wawbeek ; 
Till the earth shook with the tumult 
And confusion of the battle, 
And the air was full of shoutings, 
And the thunder of the mountains, 
Starting, answered, " Baim-wawa!" 

Back retreated Mudjekeewis, 200 
Rushing westward o'er the mountains, 
Stumbling westward down the moun- 
tains, 
Three whole days retreated fighting, 
Still pursued by Hiawatha 
To the doorways of the West-Wind, 
To the portals of the Sunset, 
To the earth's remotest border, 
Where into the empty spaces 
Sinks the sun, as a flamingo 
Drops into her nest at nightfall 210 
In the melancholy marshes. 

" Hold ! " at length cried Mudjekee- 
wis, 
' ' Hold, my son, my Hiawatha ! 
'T is impossible to kill me, 
For you cannot kill the immortal. 
I have put you to this trial, 
But to know and prove your courage ; 
Now receive the prize of valor ! 

" Go back to your home and people, 
Live among them, toil among them, 
Cleanse the earth from all that harms 

it, 
Clear the fishing-grounds and rivers, 
Slay all monsters and magicians, 
All the Wendigoes, the giants. 
All the serpents, the Kenabeeks, 
As I slew the Mishe-Mokwa, 
Slew the &reat Bear of the mountains. 

"And at last when Death draws 
near you, 
When the awful eyes of Pauguk 



Glare upon you in the darkness, 230 
I will share my kingdom with you, 
Ruler shall you be thenceforward 
Of the Northwest- Wind, Keewaydin, 
Of the home-wind, the Keewaydin." 

Thus was fought that famous battle 
In the dreadful days of Shah-shah, 
In the days long since departed, 
In the kingdom of the West-Wind. 
Still the hunter sees its traces 
Scattered far o'er hill and valley ; 240 
Sees the giant bulrush growing 
By the ponds and water-courses, 
Sees the masses of the Wawbeek 
Lying still in every valley. 

Homeward now went Hiawatha ; 
Pleasant was the landscape round him, 
Pleasant was the air above him, 
For the bitterness of anger 
Had departed wholly from him, 
From his brain the thought of ven- 
geance, 250 
From his heart the burning fever. 

Only once his pace he slackened, 
Only once he paused or halted^ 
Paused to purchase heads of arrows 
Of the ancient Arrow -maker, 
In the land of the Dacotahs, 
Where the falls of Minnehaha 
Flash and gleam among the oak-trees, 
Laugh and leap into the valley. 

There the ancient Arrow-maker 260 
Made his arrow-heads of sandstone, 
Arrow-heads of chalcedony, 
Arrow-heads of flint and jasper, 
Smoothed and sharpened at the edges, 
Hard and polished, keen and costly. 

With him dwelt his dark -eyed 
daughter, 
Wayward as the Minnehaha, 
With her moods of shade and sun- 
shine, 
Eyes that smiled and frowned alter- 
nate, 
Feet as rapid as the river, 270 

Tresses flowing like the water, 
And as musical a laughter : 
And he named her from the river, 
From the water-fall he named her, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water. 

Was it then for heads of arrows, 
Arrow-heads of chalcedony, 
Arrow-heads of flint and jasper, 
That my Hiawatha halted 
In the land of the Dacotahs ? 280 

Was it not to see the maiden, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



i53 



See the face of Laughing Water 
Peeping from behind the curtain, 
Hear the rustling of her garments 
From behind the waving curtain, 
As one sees the Minnehaha 
Gleaming, glancing through the 

branches, 
As one hears the Laughing Water 
From behind its screen of branches ? 
Who shall say what thoughts and 

visions 290 

Fill the fiery brains of young men ? 
Who shall say what dreams of beauty 
Filled the heart of Hiawatha ? 
All he told to old Nokomis, 
When he reached the lodge at sunset, 
Was the meeting with his father, 
Was his fight with Mudjekeewis; 
Not a word he said of arrows, 
Not a word of Laughing Water. 



HIAWATHA S FASTING 

You shall hear how Hiawatha 
Prayed and fasted in the forest, 
Not for greater skill in hunting, 
Not for greater craft in fishing, 
Not for triumphs in the battle, 
And renown among the warriors, 
But for profit of the people, 
For advantage of the nations. 

First he built a lodge for fasting, 
Built a wigwam in the forest, 10 

By the shining Big-Sea- Water, 
In the blithe and pleasant Spring-time, 
In the Moon of Leaves he built it, 
And, with dreams and visions many, 
Seven whole days and nights he 
fasted. 
On the first day of his fasting 
Through the leafy woods he wan- 
dered ; 
Saw the deer start from the thicket, 
Saw the rabbit in his burrow, 
Heard the pheasant, Bena, drum- 
ming, 20 
Heard the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Rattling in his hoard of acorns, 
Saw the pigeon, the Omeme, 
Building nests among the pine-trees, 
And in flocks the wild-goose, Wawa, 
Flying to the fen-lands northward, 
Whirring, wailing far above him. 



" Master of Life!" he cried, despond- 
ing, 
cl Must our lives depend on these 
things ? " 

On the next day of his fasting 30 
By the river's brink he wandered, 
Through the Muskoday, the meadow, 
Saw the wild rice, Mahnomonee, 
Saw the blueberry, Meenahga, 
And the strawberry, Odahmin, 
And the gooseberry, Shahbomin, 
And the grape-vine, the Bemahgut, 
Trailing o'er the alder-branches, 
Filling all the air with fragrance ! 
" Master of Life! " he cried, despond- 
ing, 40 
"Must our lives depend on these 
things ? " 

On the third day of his fasting 
By the lake he sat and pondered, 
By the still, transparent water ; 
Saw the sturgeon, Nahma, leaping, 
Scattering drops like beads of wam- 
pum, 
Saw the yellow perch, the Sahwa, 
Like a sunbeam in the water, 
Saw the pike, the Maskenozha, 
And the herring, Okahahwis, 50 

And the Shawgashee, the craw-fish! 
" Master of Life! " he cried, despond- 
ing, 
"Must our lives depend on these 
things ? " 

On the fourth day of his fasting 
In his lodge he lay exhausted ; 
From his couch of leaves and branches 
Gazing with half-open eyelids, 
Full of shadowy dreams and visions, 
On the dizzy, swimming landscape, 
On the gleaming of the water, 60 

On the splendor of the sunset. 

And he saw a youth approaching. 
Dressed in garments green and yellow, 
Coming through the purple twilight. 
Through the splendor of the sunset ; 
Plumes of green bent o'er his forehead, 
And his hair was soft and golden. 

Standing at the open doorway, 
Long he looked at Hiawatha, 
Looked with pity and compassion 70 
On his wasted form and features, 
And, in accents like the sighing 
Of the South-Wind in the tree-tops, 
Said he, " O my Hiawatha ! 
All your prayers are heard in heaven, 
For you pray not like the others ; 



154 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Not for greater skill in hunting, 

Not for greater craft in fishing, 

Not for triumph in the battle, 

Nor renown among the warriors, 80 

But for profit of the people, 

For ad vantage of the nations. 

"From the Master of Life descend- 
ing, 
I, the friend of man, Mondamin, 
Come to warn you and instruct you, 
How by struggle and by labor 
You shall gain what you have prayed 

for. 
Rise up from your bed of branches, 
Rise, O youth, and wrestle with me ! " 

Faint with famine, Hiawatha 90 
Started from his bed of branches, 
From the twilight of his wigwam 
Forth into the flush of sunset 
Came, and wrestled with Mondamin ; 
At his touch he felt new courage 
Throbbing in his brain and bosom, 
Felt new life and hope and vigor 
Run through every nerve and fibre. 

So they wrestled there together 
In the glory of the sunset, 100 

And the more they strove and strug- 
gled, 
Stronger still grew Hiawatha ; 
Till the darkness fell around them, 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
From her nest among the pine-trees, 
Gave a cry of lamentation, 
Gave a scream of pain and famine. 

'"Tis enough!" then said Mon- 
damin, 
Smiling upon Hiawatha, 
" But to-morrow, when the sun sets, 
I will come again to try you." m 

And he vanished, and was seen not ; 
Whether sinking as the rain sinks, 
Whether rising as the mists rise, 
Hiawatha saw not, knew not, 
Only saw that he had vanished, 
Leaving him alone and fainting, 
With the misty lake below him, 
And the reeling stars above him. 

On the morrow and the next day, 
When the sun through heaven de- 
scending, 121 
Like a red and burning cinder 
From the hearth of the Great Spirit, 
Fell into the western waters, 
Came Mondamin for the trial, 
For the strife with Hiawatha; 
Came as silent as the dew comes, 



From the empty air appearing, 
Into empty air returning, 
Taking shape when earth it touches, 
But invisible to all men 131 

In its coming and its going. 

Thrice they wrestled there together 
In the glory of the sunset, 
Till the darkness fell around them, 
Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
From her nest among the pine-trees, 
Uttered her loud cry of famine, 
And Mondamin paused to listen. 

Tall and beautiful he stood there, 140 
In his garments green and yellow ; 
To and fro his plumes above him 
Waved and nodded with his breath- 
ing, 
And the sweat of the encounter 
Stood like drops of dew upon him. 

And he cried, " O Hiawatha ! 
Bravely have you wrestled with me, 
Thrice have wrestled stoutly with me, 
And the Master of Life, who sees us 
He will give to you the triumph! " 150 

Then he smiled, and said : ' ' To- 
morrow 
Is the last day of your conflict, 
Is the last day of your fasting. 
You will conquer and o'ercome me ; 
Make a bed for me to lie in, 
Where the rain may fall upon me, 
Where the sun may come and warm 

me ; 
Strip these garments, green and yel- 
low, 
Strip this nodding plumage from me, 
Lay me in the earth, and make it 160 
Soft and loose and light above me. 

"Let no hand disturb my slumber, 
Let no weed nor worm molest me, 
Let not Kahgahgee, the raven, 
Come to haunt me and molest me, 
Only come yourself to watch me, 
Till I wake, and start, and quicken, 
Till I leap into the sunshine." 

And thus saying, he departed ; 
Peacefully slept Hiawatha, 170 

But he heard the Wawonaissa, 
Heard the whippoorwill complaining, 
Perched upon his lonely wigwam ; 
Heard the rushing Sebowisha, 
Heard the rivulet rippling near him, 
Talking to the darksome forest ; 
Heard the sighing of the branches, 
As they lifted and subsided 
At the passing of the night-wind, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



i5S 



Heard them, as one hears in slumber 
Far-off murmurs, dreamy whispers : 
Peacefully slept Hiawatha. 182 

On the morrow came Nokomis, 
On the seventh day of his fasting, 
Came with food for Hiawatha, 
Came imploring and bewailing, 
Lest his hunger should o'ercome him, 
Lest his fasting should be fatal. 

But he tasted not, and touched not, 
Only said to her, " Nokomis, 190 

Wait until the sun is setting, 
Till the darkness falls around us, 
Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
Crying from the desolate marshes, 
Tells us that the day is ended." 

Homeward weeping went Nokomis, 
Sorrowing for her Hiawatha, 
Fearing lest his strength should fail 

him, 
Lest his fasting should be fatal. 
He meanwhile sat weary waiting 200 
For the coming of Mondamin, 
Till the shadows, pointing eastward, 
Lengthened over field and forest, 
Till the sun dropped from the heaven, 
Floating on the waters westward, 
As a red leaf in the Autumn 
Falls and floats upon the water, 
Falls and sinks into its bosom. 

And behold ! the young Mondamin, 
With his soft and shining tresses, 210 
With his garments green and yellow, 
With his long and glossy plumage, 
Stood and beckoned at the doorway. 
And as one in slumber walking, 
Pale and haggard, but undaunted, 
From the wigwam Hiawatha 
Came and wrestled with Mondamin. 

Round about him spun the land- 
scape, 
Sky and forest reeled together, 
And his strong heart leaped within 
him, 220 

As the sturgeon leaps and struggles 
In a net to break its meshes. 
Like a ring of fire around him 
Blazed and flared the red horizon, 
And a hundred suns seemed looking 
At the combat of the wrestlers. 

Suddenly upon the greensward 
All alone stood Hiawatha, 
Panting with his wild exertion, 
Palpitating with the struggle ; 230 
And before him breathless, lifeless, 
Lay the youth, with hair dishevelled, 



Plumage torn, and garments tattered, 
Dead he lay there in the sunset. 

And victorious Hiawatha 
Made the grave as he commanded, 
Stripped the garments from Monda- 
min, 
Stripped his tattered plumage from 

him, 
Laid him in the earth, and made it 
Soft and loose and light above him ; 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
From the melancholy moorlands, 242 
Gave a cry of lamentation, 
Gave a cry of pain and anguish! 

Homeward then went Hiawatha 
To the lodge of old Nokomis, 
And the seven days of his fasting 
Were accomplished and completed. 
But the place was not forgotten 
Where he wrestled with Mondamin; 
Nor forgotten nor neglected 251 

Was the grave where lay Mondamin, 
Sleeping in the rain and sunshine, 
Where his scattered plumes and gar- 
ments 
Faded in the rain and sunshine. 

Day by day did Hiawatha 
Go to wait and watch beside it ; 
Kept the dark mould soft above it, 
Kept it clean from weeds and insects, 
Drove away, with scoffs and shout- 
ings, 260 
Kahgahgee, the king of ravens. 

Till at length a small green feather 
From the earth shot slowly upward, 
Then another and another, 
And before the Summer ended 
Stood the maize in all its beauty, 
With its shining robes about it, 
And its long, soft, yellow tresses; 
And in rapture Hiawatha 
Cried aloud, " It is Mondamin ! 270 
Yes, the friend of man, Mondamin ! " 

Then he called to old Nokomis 
And Iagoo, the great boaster, 
Showed them where the maize was 

growing, 
Told them of his wondrous vision, 
Of his wrestling and his triumph, 
Of this new gift to the nations, 
Which should be their food forever. 

And still later, when the Autumn 
Changed the long, green leaves to yel- 
low, 280 
And the soft and juicy kernels 
Grew like wampum hard and yellow, 



56 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Then the ripened ears he gathered, 
Stripped the withered husks from off 

them, 
As he once had stripped the wrestler, 
Gave the first Feast of Mondamin, 
And made known unto the people 
This new gift of the Great Spirit. 



VI 

hiawatha's friends 

Two good friends had Hiawatha, 

Singled out from all the others, 

Bound to him in closest union, 

And to whom he gave the right hand 

Of his heart, in joy and sorrow; 

Chibiabos, the musician, 

And the very strong man, Kwasind. 

Straight between them ran the path- 
way, 
Never grew the grass upon it ; 
Singing birds, that utter falsehoods, 10 
Story-tellers, mischief-makers, 
Found no eager ear to listen, 
Could not breed ill-will between them, 
For they kept each other's counsel, 
Spake with naked hearts together, 
Pondering much and much contriving 
How the tribes of men might prosper. 

Most beloved by Hiawatha 
Was the gentle Chibiabos, 
He the best of all musicians, 20 

He the sweetest of all singers. 
Beautiful and childlike was he, 
Brave as man is, soft as woman, 
Pliant as a wand of willow, 
Stately as a deer with antlers. 

When he sang, the village listened ; 
All the warriors gathered round him, 
All the women came to hear him; 
Now he stirred their souls to passion, 
Now he melted them to pity. 3° 

From the hollow reeds he fashioned 
Flutes so musical and mellow, 
That the brook, the Sebowisha, 
Ceased to murmur in the woodland, 
That the wood-birds ceased from sing- 
ing, 
And the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Ceased his chatter in the oak-tree, 
And the rabbit, the Wabasso, 
Sat upright to look and listen. 

Yes, the brook, the Sebowisha, 40 
Pausing, said, "O Chibiabos, 



Teach my waves to flow in music, 
Softly as your words in singing ! " 

Yes, the bluebird, the Owaissa, 
Envious, said, "O Chibiabos, 
Teach me tones as wild and wayward, 
Teach me songs as full of frenzy ! " 

Yes, the robin, the Opechee, 
Joyous, said, "O Chibiabos, 
Teach me tones as sweet and tender, 
Teach me songs as full of gladness! " 

And the whippoorwill, Wawo- 
naissa, 52 

Sobbing, said, "O Chibiabos, 
Teach me tones as melancholy, 
Teach me songs as full of sadness! " 

All the many sounds of nature 
Borrowed sweetness from his singing ; 
All the hearts of men were softened 
By the pathos of his music; 
For he sang of peace and freedom, 60 
Sang of beauty, love, and longing ; 
Sang of death, and life undying 
In the Islands of the Blessed, 
In the kingdom of Ponemah, 
In the land of the Hereafter. 

Very dear to Hiawatha 
Was the gentle Chibiabos, 
He the best of all musicians, 
He the sweetest of all singers; 
For his gentleness he loved him, 70 
And the magic of his singing. 

Dear, too, unto Hiawatha 
Was the very strong man, Kwasind, 
He the strongest of all mortals, 
He the mightiest among many ; 
For his very strength he loved him, 
For his strength allied to goodness. 

Idle in his youth was Kwasind, 
Very listless, dull, and dreamy, 
Never played with other children, 80 
Never fished and never hunted, 
Not like other children was he ; 
But they saw that much he fasted, 
Much his Manito entreated, 
Much besought his Guardian Spirit. 

"Lazy Kwasind!" said his mother, 
V In my work you never help me ! 
In the Summer you are roaming 
Idly in the fields and forests ; 
In the Winter you are cowering 9a 
O'er the firebrands in the wigwam! 
In the coldest days of Winter 
I must break the ice for fishing ; 
With my nets you never help me ! 
At the door my nets are hanging, 
Dripping, freezing with the water ; 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



!57 



Go and wring them, Yenadizze! 
Go and dry them in the sunshine ! " 
Slowly, from the ashes, Kwasind 
Rose, but made no angry answer ; 100 
From the lodge went forth in silence, 
Took the nets, that hung together, 
Dripping, freezing at the doorway ; 
Like a wisp of straw he wrung them, 
Like a wisp of straw he broke them, 
Could not wring them without break- 
ing, 
Such the strength was in his fingers. 
" Lazy Kwasind! " said his father, 
11 In the hunt you never help me ; 
Every bow you touch is broken, no 
Snapped asunder every arrow ; 
Yet come with me to the forest, 
You shall bring the hunting home- 
ward." 
Down a narrow pass they wandered, 
Where a brooklet led them onward, 
Where the trail of deer and bison 
Marked the soft mud on the margin, 
Till they found all further passage 
Shut against them, barred securely 
By the trunks of trees uprooted, 120 
Lying lengthwise, lying crosswise, 
And forbidding further passage. 
"We must go back," said the old 
man, 
" O'er these logs we cannot clamber; 
Not a woodchuck could get through 

them, 
Not a squirrel clamber o'er them! " 
And straightway his pipe he lighted, 
And sat down to smoke and ponder. 
But before his pipe was finished* 
Lo ! the path was cleared before him ; 130 
All the trunks had Kwasind lifted, 
To the right hand, to the left hand, 
Shot the pine-trees swift as arrows, 
Hurled the cedars light as lances. 
"Lazy Kwasind!" said the young 
men, 
As they sported in the meadow : 
' ' Why stand idly looking at us, 
Leaning on the rock behind you ? 
Come and wrestle with the others, 
Let us pitch the quoit together!" 140 

Lazy Kwasind made no answer, 
To their challenge made no answer, 
Only rose, and slowly turning, 
Seized the huge rock in his fingers, 
Tore it from its deep foundation, 
Poised it in the air a moment, 
Pitched it sheer into the river, 



Sheer into the swift Pauwating, 
Where it still is seen in Summer. 

Once as down that foaming river, 150 
Down the rapids of Pauwating, 
Kwasind sailed with his companions, 
In the stream he saw a beaver, 
Saw Ahmeek, the King of Beavers, 
Struggling with the rushing currents, 
Rising, sinking in the water. 

Without speaking, without pausing, 
Kwasind leaped into the river, 
Plunged beneath the bubbling surface, 
Through the whirlpools chased the 
beaver, 160 

Followed him among the islands, 
Stayed so long beneath the water, 
That his terrified companions 
Cried, "Alas ! good-by to Kwasind! 
We shall never more see Kwasind ! " 
But he reappeared triumphant, 
And upon his shining shoulders 
Brought the beaver, dead and drip- 
ping, 
Brought the King of all the Beavers. 

And these two, as I have told you, 170 
Were the friends of Hiawatha, 
Chibiabos, the musician, 
And the very strong man, Kwasind. 
Long they lived in peace together, 
Spake with naked hearts together, 
Pondering much and much contriving 
How the tribes of men might prosper. 



VII 

hiawatha's sailing 

" Give me of your bark, O Birch-tree! 
Of your yellow bark, O Birch-tree! 
Growing by the rushing river, 
Tall and stately in the valley ! 
I a light canoe w T ill build me, 
Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing, 
That shall float upon the river, 
Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, 
Like a yellow water-lily ! 

"Lay aside your cloak, O Birch- 
tree ! ic 
Lay aside your white-skin wrapper, 
For the Summer-time is coming, 
And the sun is warm in heaven, 
And you need no white-skin wrap 
per!" 
Thus aloud cried Hiawatha 
In the solitary forest, 



158 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



By the rushing Taquamenaw, 
When the birds were singing gayly, 
In the Moon of Leaves were singing, 
And the sun, from sleep awaking, 20 
Started up and said, ' ' Behold me ! 
Gheezis, the great Sun, behold me ! " 

And the tree with all its branches 
Rustled in the breeze of morning, 
Saying, with a sigh of patience, 
" Take my cloak, Hiawatha! " 

With his knife the tree he girdled ; 
Just beneath its lowest branches, 
Just above the roots, he cut it, 
Till the sap came oozing outward ; 30 
Down the trunk, from top to bottom, 
Sheer he cleft the bark asunder, 
With a wooden wedge he raised it, 
Stripped it from the trunk unbroken. 

" Give me of your boughs, O Cedar ! 
Of your strong and pliant branches, 
My canoe to make more steady, 
Make more strong and firm beneath 
me!" 

Through the summit of the Cedar 
Went a sound, a cry of horror, 40 

Went a murmur of resistance ; 
But it whispered, bending downward, 
" Take my boughs, O Hiawatha! " 

Down he hewed the boughs of ce- 
dar, 
Shaped them straightway to a frame- 
work, 
Like two bows he formed and shaped 

them 
Like two bended bows together. 

" Give me of your roots, O Tama- 
rack! 
Of your fibrous roots, O Larch- tree ! 
My canoe to bind together, 50 

So to bind the ends together 
That the water may not enter, 
That the river may not wet me ! " 

And the Larch, with all its fibres, 
Shivered in the air of morning, 
Touched his forehead with its tassels, 
Said, with one long sigh of sorrow, 
" Take them all, O Hiawatha ! " 

From the earth he tore the fibres. 
Tore the tough roots of the Larch-tree, 
Closely sewed the bark together, 61 
Bound it closely to the frame- work. 

"Give me of your balm, O Fir-tree ! 
Of your balsam and your resin, 
So to close the seams together 
That the water may not enter, 
That the river may not wet me ! " 



And the Fir-tree, tall and sombre, 
Sobbed through all its robes of dark- 
ness, 
Rattled like a shore with pebbles, 70 
Answered wailing, answered weep- 
ing, 
"Take my balm, O Hiawatha! " 

And he took the tears of balsam, 
Took the resin of the Fir-tree, 
Smeared therewith each seam and fis- 
sure, 
Made each crevice safe from water. 
" Give me of your quills, O Hedge- 
hog ! 
All your quills, O Kagh, the Hedge- 
hog ! 
I will make a necklace of them, 
Make a girdle for my beauty, 80 

And two stars to deck her bosom ! " 
From a hollow tree the Hedgehog 
With his sleepy eyes looked at him, 
Shot his shining quills, like arrows, 
Saying with a drowsy murmur, 
Through the tangle of his whiskers, 
" Take my quills, Hiawatha ! " 
From the ground the quills he gath- 
ered, 
All the little shining arrows, 
Stained them red and blue and yel- 
low, 90 
With the juice of roots and berries ; 
Into his canoe he wrought them, 
Round its waist a shining girdle, 
Round its bows a gleaming necklace, 
On its breast two stars resplendent. 

Thus the Birch Canoe was builded 
In the valley, by the river, 
In the bosom of the forest ; 
And the forest's life was in it, 
All its mystery and its magic, 100 

All the lightness of the birch-tree, 
All the toughness of the cedar, 
All the larch's supple sinews ; 
And it floated on the river 
Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, 
Like a yellow water-lily. 

Paddles none had Hiawatha, 
Paddles none he had or needed, 
For his thoughts as paddles served 
him, 109 

And his wishes served to guide him ; 
Swift or slow at will he glided, 
Veered to right or left at pleasure. 

Then he called aloud to Kwasind, 
To his friend, the strong man, Kwa- 
sind, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



r 59 



Saying, " Help me clear this river 
Of its sunken logs and sand-bars." 
Straight into the river Kwasind 
Plunged as if he were an otter, 
Dived as if he were a beaver, 
Stood up to his waist in water, 120 
To his arm-pits in the river, 
Swam and shouted in the river, 
Tugged at sunken logs and branches. 
With his hands he scooped the sand- 
bars, 
With his feet the ooze and tangle. 

And thus sailed my Hiawatha 
Down the rushing Taquamenaw, 
Sailed through all its bends and wind- 
ings, 
Sailed through all its deeps and shal- 
lows, 
While his friend, the strong man, 
Kwasind, 130 

Swam the deeps, the shallows waded. 

Up and down the river went they, 
In and out among its islands, 
Cleared its bed of root and sand-bar, 
Dragged the dead trees from its chan- 
nel, 
Made its passage safe and certain, 
Made a pathway for the people, 
From its springs among the moun- 
tains, 
To the waters of Pauwating, 
To the bay of Taquamenaw. 140 

VIII 

Hiawatha's fishing 

Forth upon the Gitche Gumee, 
On the shining Big-Sea- Water, 
With his fishing-line of cedar, 
Of the twisted bark of cedar, 
Forth to catch the sturgeon Nahma, 
Mishe-Nahma, King of Fishes, 
In his birch canoe exulting 
All alone went Hiawatha. 

Through the clear, transparent wa- 
ter 
He could see the fishes swimming 10 
Far down in the depths below him ; 
See the yellow perch, the Sahwa, 
Like a sunbeam in the water, 
See the Shawgashee, the craw-fish, 
Like a spider on the bottom, 
On the white and sandy bottom. 

At the stern sat Hiawatha, 
With his fishing-line of cedar ; 



In his plumes the breeze of morning 
Played as in the hemlock branches ; 20 
On the bows, with tail erected, 
Sat the squirrel, Adjidaumo ; 
In his fur the breeze of morning 
Played as in the prairie grasses. 

On the white sand of the bottom 
Lay the monster Mishe-Nahma, 
Lay the sturgeon, King of Fishes; 
Through his gills he breathed the wa- 
ter, 
With his fins he fanned and win- 
nowed, 
With his tail he swept the sand-floor. 

There he lay in all his armor : 31 
On each side a shield to guard him, 
Plates of bone upon his forehead, 
Down his sides and back and shoul- 
ders 
Plates of bone with spines project- 
ing! 
Painted was he with his war-paints, 
Stripes of yellow, red, and azure, 
Spots of brown and spots of sable ; 
And he lay there on the bottom, 
Fanning with his fins of purple, 40 
As above him Hiawatha 
In his birch canoe came sailing, 
With his fishing-line of cedar. 

" Take my bait," cried Hiawatha, 
Down into the depths beneath him, 
" Take my bait, Sturgeon, Nahma! 
Come up from below the water, 
Let us see which is the stronger ! " 
And he dropped his line of cedar 
Through the clear, transparent wa- 
ter, 50 
Waited vainly for an answer, 
Long sat waiting for an answer, 
And repeating loud and louder, 
"Take my bait, O King of Fishes ! " 

Quiet lay the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Fanning slowly in the water, 
Looking up at Hiawatha, 
Listening to his call and clamor, 
His unnecessary tumult, 
Till he wearied of the shouting ; 60 
And he said to the Kenozha, 
To the pike, the Maskenozha, 
' ' Take the bait of this rude fellow, 
Break the line of Hiawatha ! " 

In his fingers Hiawatha 
Felt the loose line jerk and tighten ; 
As he drew it in, it tugged so 
That the birch canoe stood endwise, 
Like a birch log in the water, 



i6o 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



With the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 70 

Perched and frisking on the summit. 

Full of scorn was Hiawatha 
When he saw the fish rise upward, 
Saw the pike, the Maskenozha, 
Coming nearer, nearer to him, 
And he shouted through the water, 
" Esa! esa! shame upon you ! 
You are but the pike, Kenozha, 



Reached the far-off sandy beaches, 
Till the water-flags and rushes 
Nodded on the distant margins. 
But when Hiawatha saw him 
Slowly rising through the water, 
Lifting up his disk refulgent, 
Loud he shouted in derision, 
' ' Esa ! esa ! shame upon you ! 
You are Ugudwash, the sun-fish, 




Long sat waiting for an answer " 



You are not the fish I wanted, 

You are not the King of Fishes ! " 80 

Reeling downward to the bottom 
Sank the pike in great confusion, 
And the mighty sturgeon, Nahma, 
Said to Ugudwash, the sun-fish, 
To the bream, with scales of crimson, 
" Take the bait of this great boaster, 
Break the line of Hiawatha ! " 

Slowly upward, wavering, gleam- 
ing. 
Rose the Ugudwash, the sun-fish, 
Seized the line of Hiawatha, 9° 

Swung with all his weight upon it, 
Made a whirlpool in the water, 
Whirled the birch canoe in circles, 
Round and round in gurgling eddies, 
Till the circles in the water 



You are not the fish I wanted, 
You are not the King of Fishes! " 

Slowly downward, wavering, gleam- 
ing, 
Sank the Ugudwash, the sun-fish, 
And again the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Heard the shout of Hiawatha, no 

Heard his challenge of defiance, 
The unnecessary tumult, 
Ringing far across the water. 

From the white sand of the bottom 
Up he rose with angry gesture, 
Quivering in each nerve and fibre, 
Clashing all his plates of armor, 
Gleaming bright with all his war- 
paint ; 
In his wrath he darted upward, 
Flashing leaped into the sunshine, 120 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



161 



Opened his great jaws, and swallowed 
Both canoe and Hiawatha. 

Down into that darksome cavern 
Plunged the headlong Hiawatha, 
As a log on some black river 
Shoots and plunges down the rapids, 
Found himself in utter darkness, 
Groped about in helpless wonder, 
Till he felt a great heart beating, 
Throbbing in that utter darkness. 13& 

And he smote it in his anger, 
With his fist, the heart of Nahma, 
Felt the mighty King of Fishes 
Shudder through each nerve and fibre, 
Heard the water gurgle round him 
As he leaped and staggered through 

it, 
Sick at heart, and faint and weary. 

Crosswise then did Hiawatha 
Drag his birch-canoe for safety, 
Lest from out the jaws of Nahma, 140 
In the turmoil and confusion, 
Forth he might be hurled and perish. 
And the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Frisked and chattered very gayly, 
Toiled and tugged with Hiawatha 
Till the labor was completed. 

Then said Hiawatha to him, 
" O my little friend, the squirrel, 
Bravely have you toiled to help me ; 
Take the thanks of Hiawatha, 150 

And the name which now he gives 

you; 
For hereafter and forever 
Boys shall call you Adjidaumo, 
Tail-in-air the boys shall call you ! " 

And again the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Gasped and quivered in the water, 
Then was still, and drifted landward 
Till he grated on the pebbles, 
Till the listening Hiawatha 
Heard him grate upon the margin, 160 
Felt him strand upon the pebbles, 
Knew that Nahma, King of Fishes, 
Lay there dead upon the margin. 

Then he heard a clang and flapping, 
As of many wings assembling, 
Heard a screaming and confusion, 
As of birds of prey contending, 
Saw a gleam of light above him, 
Shining through the ribs of Nahma, 
Saw the glittering eyes of sea-gulls, 170 
Of Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, peering, 
Gazing at him through the opening, 
Heard them saying to each other, 
" 'T is our brother, Hiawatha ! " 



And he shouted from below them, 
Cried exulting from the caverns: 
' ' O ye sea-gulls ! O my brothers ! 
I have slain the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Make the rifts a little larger, 
With your claws the openings widen, 
Set me free from this dark prison, 181 
And henceforward and forever 
Men shall speak of your achievements, 
Calling you Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, 
Yes, Kayoshk, the Noble Scratch- 
ers ! " 

And the wild and clamorous sea- 
gulls 
Toiled with beak and claws together, 
Made the rifts and openings wider 
In the mighty ribs of Nahma, 
And from peril and from prison, 190 
From the body of the sturgeon, 
From the peril of the water, 
They released my Hiawatha. 

He was standing near his wigwam, 
On the margin of the water, 
And he called to old Nokomis, 
Called and beckoned to Nokomis, 
Pointed to the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Lying lifeless on the pebbles, 
With the sea-gulls feeding on him. 20c 

"I have slain the Mishe-Nahma, 
Slain the King of Fishes ! " said he ; 
" Look! the sea-gulls feed upon him, 
Yes, my friends Kayoshk, the sea- 
gulls ; 
Drive them not away, Nokomis, 
They have saved me from great peril 
In the body of the sturgeon, 
Wait until their meal is ended, 
Till their craws are full with feasting, 
Till they homeward fly, at sunset, 210 
To their nests among the marshes; 
Then bring all your pots and kettles, 
And make oil for us in Winter." 

And she waited till the sun set, 
Till the pallid moon, the Night-sun, 
Rose above the tranquil water, 
Till Kayoshk, the sated sea-gulls, 
From their banquet rose with clamor, 
And across the fiery sunset 
Winged their way to far-off islands, 220 
To their nests among the rushes. 

To his sleep went Hiawatha, 
And Nokomis to her labor, 
Toiling patient in the moonlight, 
Till the sun and moon changed places, 
Till the sky was red with sunrise, 
And Kayoshk, the hungry sea-gulls, 



162 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Came back from the reedy islands, 
Clamorous for their morning banquet. 
Three whole days and nights alter- 
nate 230 
Old Nokomis and the sea-gulls 
Stripped the oily flesh of Nahma, 
Till the waves washed through the 

rib-bones, 
Till the sea-gulls came no longer, 
And upon the sands lay nothing 
But the skeleton of Nahnia. 



IX 

HIAWATHA AND THE PEARL-FEATHER, 

On the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
Of the shining Big-Sea-Water, 
Stood Nokomis, the old woman, 
Pointing with her finger westward, 
O'er the water pointing westward, 
To the purple clouds of sunset. 

Fiercely the red sun descending 
Burned his way along the heavens, 
Set the sky on fire behind him, 
As war-parties, when retreating, 10 
Burn the prairies on their war-trail ; 
And the moon, the Night-sun, east- 
ward, 
Suddenly starting from his ambush, 
Followed fast those bloody footprints, 
Fo 1 lowed in that fiery war-trail, 
With its glare upon his features. 

And Nokomis, the old woman, 
Pointing with her finger westward, 
Spake these words to Hiawatha: 
" Yonder dwells the great Pearl- 
Feather, 20 
Megissogwon, the Magician, 
Manito of Wealth and Wampum, 
Guarded by his fiery serpents, 
Guarded by the black pitch- water. 
You can see his fiery serpents, 
The Kenabeek, the great serpents, 
Coiling, playing in the water ; 
You can see the black pitch- water 
Stretching far away beyond them, 
To the purple clouds of sunset ! 30 

' ' He it was who slew my father, 
By his wicked wiles and cunning, 
When he from the moon descended, 
When he came on earth to seek me 
He, the mightiest of Magicians, 
Sends the fever from the marshes, 
Sends the pestilential vapors, 



Sends the poisonous exhalations, 
Sends the white fog from the fen-lands, 
Sends disease and death among us i 4c 

" Take your bow, O Hiawatha, 
Take your arrows, jasper-headed, 
Take your war-club. Puggawaugun, 
And your mittens, Minj ekahwun, 
And your birch- canoe for sailing, 
And the oil of Mishe-Nahma, 
So to smear its sides, that swiftly 
You may pass the black pitch-water : 
Slay this merciless magician, 
Save the people from the fever 50 
That he breathes across the fen-lands, 
And avenge my father's murder!" 
Straightway then my Hiawatha 
Armed himself with all his war-gear, 
Launched his birch-canoe for sailing ; 
With his palm its sides he patted, 
Said with glee, " Cheemaun, my dar- 
ling, 
O my Birch-canoe ! leap forward, 
Where you see the fiery serpents, 
Where you see the black pitch-wa- 
ter!" 60 
Forward leaped Cheemaun exult- 
ing, 
And the noble Hiawatha 
Sang his war-song wild and woful, 
And above him the war-eagle, 
The Keneu, the great war-eagle, 
Master of all fowls with feathers, 
Screamed and hurtled through the 
heavens. 
Soon he reached the fiery serpents, 
The Kenabeek, the great serpents. 
Lying huge upon the water, 70 
Sparkling, rippling in the water, 
Lying coiled across the passage, 
With their blazing crests uplifted, 
Breathing fiery fogs and vapors, 
So that none could pass beyond them. 

But the fearless Hiawatha 
Cried aloud, and spake in this wise, 
"Let me pass my way, Kenabeek, 
Let me go upon my journey ! " 79 

And they answered, hissing fiercely, 
With their fiery breath made answer : 
"Back, go back ! O Shaugodaya! 
Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart!" 

Then the angry Hiawatha 
Raised his mighty bow of ash-tree. 
Seized his arrows, jasper-headed, 
Shot them fast among the serpents ; 
Every twanging of the bow-string 
Was a war-cry and a death-cry, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



»6 3 



Every whizzing of an arrow 90 

Was a death-song of Kenabeek. 

Weltering in the bloody water, 
Dead lay all the fiery serpents^ 
And among them Hiawatha 
Harmless sailed, and cried exulting : 
" Onward, O Cheemaun, my darling! 
Onward to the black pitch-water ! " 

Then he took the oil of Nahma, 
And the bows and sides anointed, 
Smeared them well with oil, that 
swiftly 100 

He might pass the black pitch- water. 

All night long he sailed upon it, 
Sailed upon that sluggish water, 
Covered with its mould of ages, 
Black with rotting water-rushes, 
Rank with flags and leaves of lilies, 
Stagnant, lifeless, dreary, dismal, 
Lighted by the shimmering moonlight, 
And by will-o'-the-wisps illumined, 
Fires by ghosts of dead men kindled, 
In their weary night-encampments. 

All the air was white with moon- 
light, 112 
All the water black with shadow, 
And around him the Suggema, 
The mosquito, sang his war-song, 
And the fire-flies, Wah-wah-taysee, 
Waved their torches to mislead him ; 
And the bull-frog, the Dahinda, 
Thrust his head into the moonlight, 
Fixed his yellow eyes upon him, 120 
Sobbed and sank beneath the surface ; 
And anon a thousand whistles 
Answered over all the fen-lands, 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
Far off on the reedy margin, 
Heralded the hero's coming. 

Westward thus fared Hiawatha, 
Toward the realm of Megissogwon, 
Toward the land of the Pearl -Feather, 
Till the level moon stared at him, 130 
In his face stared pale and haggard, 
Till the sun was hot behind him, 
Till it burned upon his shoulders, 
And before him on the upland 
He could see the Shining Wigwam 
Of the Manito of Wampum, 
Of the mightiest of Magicians. 

Then once more Cheemaun he 
patted, 
To his birch-canoe said, " Onward ! " 
And it stirred in all its fibres, 140 

And with one great bound of triumph 
Leaped across the water-lilies, 



Leaped through tangled flags and 

rushes, 
And upon the beach beyond them 
Dry-shod landed Hiawatha. 

Straight he took his bow of ash-tree, 
On the sand one end he rested, 
With his knee he pressed the middle, 
Stretched the faithful bow-string 

tighter, 
Took an arrow, jasper-headed, 15a 
Shot it at the Shining Wigwam, 
Sent it singing as a herald, 
As a bearer of his message, 
Of his challenge loud and lofty: 
" Come forth from your lodge, Pearl- 
Feather ! 
Hiawatha waits your coming! " 

Straightway from the Shining Wig- 
wam 
Came the mighty Megissogwon, 
Tall of stature, broad of shoulder, 
Dark and terrible in aspect, 160 

Clad from head to foot in wampum, 
Armed with all his warlike weapons, 
Painted like the sky of morning, 
Streaked with crimson, blue, and yel- 
low, 
Crested with great eagle-feathers, 
Streaming upward, streaming out- 
ward. 
''Well I know you, Hiawatha!" 
Cried he in a voice of thunder, 
In a tone of loud derision. 
" Hasten back, O Shaugodaya ! 170 
Hasten back among the women, 
Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart ! 
I will slay you as you stand there, 
As of old I slew her father! " 

But my Hiawatha answered, 
Nothing daunted, fearing nothing : 
"Big words do not smite like war- 
clubs, 
Boastful breath is not a bow-string, 
Taunts are not so sharp as arrows, 
Deeds are better things than words 
are, 180 

Actions mightier than boastings! " 

Then began the greatest battle 
That the sun had ever looked on, 
That the war-birds ever witnessed, 
All a Summer's day it lasted, 
From the sunrise to the sunset ; 
For the shafts of Hiawatha 
Harmless hit the shirt of wampum, 
Harmless fell the blows he dealt it 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 190 



1 64 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Harmless fell the heavy war-club; 
It could dash the rocks asunder, 
But it could not break the meshes 
Of that magic shirt of wampum. 

Till at sunset Hiawatha, 
Leaning on his bow of ash-tree, 
Wounded, weary, and desponding, 
With his mighty war-club broken, 
With his mittens torn and tattered, 
And three useless arrows only, 200 
Paused to rest beneath a pine-tree, 
From whose branches trailed the 

mosses, • 
And whose trunk was coated over 
With the Dead-man's Moccasin- 
leather, 
With the fungus white and yellow. 

Suddenly from the boughs above 
him 
Sang the Mama, the woodpecker : 
" Aim your arrows, Hiawatha, 
At the head of Megissogwon, 
Strike the tuft of hair upon it, 210 
At their roots the long black tresses ; 
There alone can he be wounded ! " 

Winged with feathers, tipped with 
jasper, 
Swift flew Hiawatha's arrow, 
Just as Megissogwon, stooping, 
Raised a heavy stone to throw it. 
Full upon the crown it struck him, 
At the roots of his long tresses, 
And he reeled and staggered forward, 
Plunging like a wounded bison, 220 
Yes, like Pezhekee, the bison, 
When the snow is on the prairie. 

Swifter flew the second arrow, 
In the pathway of the other, 
Piercing deeper than the other, 
Wounding sorer than the other ; 
And the knees of Megissogwon 
Shook like windy reeds beneath him, 
Bent and trembled like the rushes. 

But the third and latest arrow 230 
Swiftest flew, and wounded sorest, 
And the mighty Megissogwon 
Saw the fiery eyes of Pauguk, 
Saw the eyes of Death glare at him, 
Heard his voice call in the darkness ; 
At the feet of Hiawatha 
Lifeless lay the great Pearl-Feather 
Lay the mightiest of Magicians. 

Then the grateful Hiawatha 
Called the Mama, the woodpecker, 240 
From his perch among the branches 
' Of the melancholy pine-tree, 



And, in honor of his service, 
Stained with blood the tuft of feath- 
ers 
On the little head of Mama ; 
Even to this day he wears it, 
Wears the tuft of crimson feathers, 
As a symbol of. his service. 

Then he stripped the shirt of wam- 
pum 
From the back of Megissogwon, 250 
As a trophy of the battle, 
As a signal of his conquest. 
On the shore he left the body, 
Half on land and half in water, 
In the sand his feet were buried, 
And his face was in the water. 
And above him, wheeled and clamored 
The Keneu, the great war-eagle, 
Sailing round in narrower circles, 
Hovering nearer, nearer, nearer. 260 

From the wigwam Hiawatha 
Bore the wealth of Megissogwon, 
All his wealth of skins and wampum, 
Furs of bison and of beaver, 
Furs of sable and of ermine, 
Wampum belts and strings and 

pouches, 
Quivers wrought with beads of wam- 
pum, 
Filled with arrows, silver-headed. 

Homeward then he sailed exulting, 
Homeward through the black pitch- 
water, 270 
Homeward through the weltering ser- 
pents, 
With the trophies of the battle, 
With a shout and song of triumph. 

On the shore stood old Nokomis, 
On the shore stood Chibiabos, 
And the very strong man, Kwasind, 
Waiting for the hero's coming, 
Listening to his songs of triumph. 
And the people of the village 
Welcomed him with songs and dances, 
Made a joyous feast, and shouted : 281 
' ' Honor be to Hiawatha ! 
He has slain the great Pearl -Feather, 
Slain the mightiest of Magicians, 
Him, who sent the fiery fever, 
Sent the white fog from the fen-lands. 
Sent disease and death, among us ! " 

Ever dear to Hiawatha 
Was the memory of Mama! 
And in, token of his friendship, 290 
As a mark of his remembrance, 
He adorned and decked his pipe-stem 




THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



165 



With the crimson tuft of feathers, 
With the blood-red crest of Mama. 
But the wealth of Megissogwon, 
All the trophies of the battle, 
He divided with his people, 
Shared it equally among them. 



HIAWATHA S WOOING 

"As unto the bow the cord is, 
So unto the man is woman ; 
Though she bends him, she obeys him, 
Though she draws him, yet she fol- 
lows ; 
Useless each without the other ! " 

Thus the youthful Hiawatha 
Said within himself and pondered, 
Much perplexed by various feelings, 
Listless, longing, hoping, fearing, 
Dreaming still of Minnehaha, 10 

Of the lovely Laughing Water, 
In the land of the Dacotahs. 

"Wed a maiden of your people," 
Warning said the old Nokomis ; 
" Go not eastward, go not westward. 
For a stranger, whom we know not ! 
Like a fire upon the hearth-stone 
Is a neighbor's homely daughter, 
Like the starlight or the moonlight 
Is the handsomest of strangers ! " 20 

Thus dissuading spake Xokomis : 
And my Hiawatha answered 
Only this : " Dear old Nokomis, 
Very pleasant is the firelight, 
But I like the starlight better, 
Better do I like the moonlight! " 

Gravely then said old Nokomis : 
" Bring not here an idle maiden, 
Bring not here a useless woman, 
Hands unskilful, feet unwilling : 30 
Bring a wife with nimble fingers, 
Heart and hand that move together, 
Feet that run on willing errands ! " 

Smiling answered Hiawatha : 
''In the land of the Dacotahs 
Lives the Arrow -maker's daughter, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
Handsomest of all the women. 
I will bring her to your wigwam, 
She shall run upon your errands, 40 
Be your starlight, moonlight, fire- 
light, 
Be the sunlight of my people ! " 



Still dissuading said Nokomis : 
" Bring not to my lodge a stranger 
From the land of the Dacotahs ! 
Very fierce are the Dacotahs, 
Often is there war between us, 
There are feuds yet unforgotten, 
Wounds that ache and still may 
open ! " 

Laughing answered Hiawatha : 50 
" For that reason, if no other, 
Would I wed the fair Dacotah, 
That our tribes might be united, 
That old feuds might be forgotten, 
And old wounds be healed forever!" 

Thus departed Hiawatha 
To the land of the Dacotahs, 
To the land of handsome women ; 
Striding over moor and meadow, 
Through interminable forests, 60 

Through uninterrupted silence. 

With his moccasins of magic, 
At each stride a mile he measured ; 
Yet the way seemed long before him, 
And his heart outran his footsteps ; 
And he journeyed without resting, 
Till he heard the cataract's laughter, 
Heard the Falls of Minnehaha 
Calling to him through the silence, 
"Pleasant is the sound!" he mur- 
mured, 70 
"Pleasant is the voice that calls me! " 

On the outskirts of the forests. 
'Twixt the shadow and the sunshine, 
Herds of fallow deer were feeding, 
But they saw not Hiawatha ; 
To his bow he whispered, "Fail 

not!" 
To his arrow whispered, "Swerve 

not ! " 
Sent it singing on its errand, 
To the red heart of the roebuck ; 
Threw the deer across his shoulder, 80 
And sped forward without pausing. 

At the doorway of his wigw T am 
Sat the ancient Arrow-maker, 
In the land of the Dacotahs, 
Making arrow-heads of jasper, 
Arrow-heads of chalcedony. 
At his side, in all her beauty, 
Sat the lovely Minnehaha, 
Sat his daughter, Laughing Water, 
Plaiting mats of flags and rushes ; 90 
Of the past the old man's thoughts 

were, 
And the maiden's of the future. 

He was thinking, as he sat there. ■ 



i66 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Of the days when with such arrows 
He had struck the deer and bison, 
On the Muskoday, the meadow ; 
Shot the wild goose, flying southward, 
On the wing, the clamorous Wawa ; 
Thinking of the great war-parties, 
How they came to buy his arrows, ico 
Could not fight without his arrows. 
Ah, no more such noble warriors 
Could be found on earth as they were ! 
Now the men were all like women, 
Only used their tongues for weapons ! 

She was thinking of a hunter, 
From another tribe and country, 
Young and tall and very handsome, 
Who one morning, in the Spring-time, 
Came to buy her father's arrows, no 
Sat and rested in the wigwam, 
Lingered long about the doorway, 
Looking back as he departed. 
She had heard her father praise him, 
Praise his courage and his wisdom ; 
Would he come again for arrows 
To the Falls of Minnehaha ? 
On the mat her hands lay idle, 
And her eyes were very dreamy. 

Through their thoughts they heard 
a footstep, 120 

Heard a rustling in the branches, 
And with glowing cheek and forehead, 
With the deer upon his shoulders, 
Suddenly from out the woodlands 
Hiawatha stood before them. 

Straight the ancient Arrow-maker 
Looked up gravely from his labor, 
Laid aside the unfinished arrow, 
Bade him enter at the doorway, 
Saying, as he rose to meet him, 130 
"Hiawatha, you are welcome!" 

At the feet of Laughing Water 
Hiawatha laid his burden, 
Threw the red deer from his shoul- 
ders ; 
And the maiden looked up at him, 
Looked up from her mat of rushes, 
Said with gentle look and accent, 
" You are welcome, Hiawatha ! " 

Very spacious was the wigwam, 
Made of deer-skins dressed and whit- 
ened, 140 
With the Gods of the Dacotahs 
Drawn and painted on its curtains, 
And so tall the doorway, hardly 
Hiawatha stooped to enter, 
Hardly touched his eagle -feathers 
As he entered at the doorway. 



Then uprose the Laughing Water, 
From the ground fair Minnehaha, 
Laid aside her mat unfinished, 
Brought forth food and set before 
them, 150 

Water brought them from the brook- 
let, 
Gave them food in earthen vessels, 
Gave them drink in bowls of bass- 
wood, 
Listened while the guest was speaking, 
Listened while her father answered, 
But not once her lips she opened, 
Not a single word she uttered. 

Yes, as in a dream she listened 
To the words of Hiawatha, 
As he talked of old Nokomis, 160 

Who had nursed him in his childhood, 
As he told of his companions, 
Chibiabos, the musician, 
And the very strong man, Kwasind, 
And of happiness and plenty 
In the land of the Ojibways, 
In the pleasant laud and peaceful. 
' ' After many years of warfare, 
Many years of strife and bloodshed, 
There is peace between the Ojib- 
ways 170 

And the tribe of the Dacotahs." 
Thus continued Hiawatha, 
And then added, speaking slowly, 
" That this peace may last forever, 
And our hands be clasped more closely, 
And our hearts be more united, 
Give me as my wife this maiden, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
Loveliest of Dacotah women ! " 

And the ancient Arrow-maker 180 
Paused a moment ere he answered, 
Smoked a little while in silence, 
Looked at Hiawatha proudly, 
Fondly looked at Laughing Water, 
And made answer very gravely : 
"Yes, if Minnehaha wishes ; 
Let your heart speak, Minnehaha ! " 

And the lovely Laughing Water 
Seemed more lovely as she stood there, 
Neither willing nor reluctant, 190 

As she went to Hiawatha, 
Softly took the seat beside him, 
While she said, and blushed to say it, 
" I will follow you, my husband ! " 

This was Hiawatha's wooing! 
Thus it was he won the daughter 
Of the ancient Arrow-maker, 
In the land of the Dacotahs ! 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



167 



From the wigwam he departed, 
Leading with him Laughing Water ; 
Hand in hand they went together, 201 
Through the woodland and the 

meadow, 
Left the old man standing lonely 
At the doorway of his wigwam, 
Heard the Falls of Minnehaha 
Calling to them from the distance, 
Crying to them from afar off, 
" Fare thee well, O Minnehaha!" 

Aud the ancient Arrow-maker 
Turned again unto his labor, 210 



And she follows where he leads her, 
Leaving all things for the stranger ! " 

Pleasant was the journey homeward, 
Through interminable forests, 
Over meadow, over mountain, 
Over river, hill, and hollow. 
Short it seemed to Hiawatha, 
Though they journeyed very slowly, 
Though his pace he checked and 

slackened 
To the steps of Laughing Water. 230 

Over wide and rushing rivers 
In his arms he bore the maiden ; 




" I will follow you, my husband ! " 



Sat down by his sunny doorway, 
Murmuring to himself, and saying: 
" Thus it is our daughters leave us, 
Those we love, and those who love us ! 
Just when they have learned to help 

us, 
When we are old and lean upon them, 
Comes a youth with flaunting feath- 
ers, 
With his flute of reeds, a stranger 
Wanders piping through the village, 
Beckons to the fairest maiden, 220 



Light he thought her as a feather, 
As the plume upon his head-gear : 
Cleared the tangled pathway'for her, 
Bent aside the swaying branches, 
Made at night a lodge of branches, 
And a bed with boughs of hemlock, 
And a fire before the doorway 
With the dry cones of the pine-tree. 240 
All the travelling winds went with 
them, 
O'er the meadows, through the forest ; 
All the stars of night looked at them, 



i68 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Watched with sleepless eyes their 

slumber ; 
From his ambush in the oak-tree 
Peeped the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Watched with eager eyes the lovers ; 
And the rabbit, the Wabasso, 
Scampered from the path before them, 
Peering, peeping from his burrow, 250 
Sat erect upon his haunches, 
Watched with curious eyes the lovers. 
Pleasant was the journey home- 
ward! 
All the birds sang loud and sweetly 
Songs of happiness and heart' s-ease ; 
Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, 
" Happy are you, Hiawatha, 
Having such a wife to love you! " 
Sang the robin, the Opechee, 
" Happy are you, Laughing Water, 260 
Having such a noble husband ! " 

From the sky the sun benignant 
Looked upon them through the 

branches, 
Saying to them, ' ' O my children, 
Love is sunshine, hate is shadow, 
Life is checkered shade and sunshine, 
Rule by love, O Hiawatha ! " 
From the sky the moon looked at 
them, 
Filled the lodge with mystic splendors, 
Whispered to them, "O my children, 
Day is restless, night is quiet, 271 

Man imperious, woman feeble ; 
Half is mine, although I follow ; 
Rule by patience, Laughing Water ! " 
Thus it was they journeyed home- 
ward ; 
Thus it was that Hiawatha 
To the lodge of old Nokomis 
Brought the moonlight, starlight, 

firelight, 
Brought the sunshine of his people, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 280 

Handsomest of all the women 
In the land of the Dacotahs, 
In the land of handsome women. 



XI 

hiawatha's wedding-feast 

You shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
How the handsome Yenadizze 
Danced at Hiawatha's wedding; 
How the gentle Chibiabos, 



He the sweetest of musicians, 
Sang his songs of love and longing ; 
How Iagoo the great boaster, 
He the marvellous story-teller, 
Told his tales of strange adventure, 
That the feast might be more joyous, 
That the time might pass more gayly, 
And the guests be more contented. 12 

Sumptuous was the feast Nokomis 
Made at Hiawatha's wedding ; 
All the bowls were made of bass-wood, 
White and polished very smoothly, 
All the spoons of horn of bison, 
Black and polished very smoothly. 

She had sent through all the village 
Messengers with wands of willow, 20 
As a sign of invitation, 
As a token of the feasting ; 
And the wedding guests assembled, 
Clad in all their richest raiment, 
Robes of fur and belts of wampum, 
Splendid with their paint and plumage, 
Beautiful with beads and tassels. 

First they ate the sturgeon, Nahma, 
And the pike, the Maskenozha, 
Caught and cooked by old Nokomis ; 
Then on pemican they feasted, 31 

Pemican and buffalo marrow, 
Haunch of deer and hump of bison, 
.Yellow cakes of the Mondamin, 
And the wild rice of the river. 

But the gracious Hiawatha, 
And the lovely Laughing Water, 
And the careful old Nokomis, 
Tasted not the food before them, 
Only waited on the others, 40 

Only served their guests in silence. 

And when all the guests had fin- 
ished, 
Old Nokomis, brisk and busy, 
From an ample pouch of otter, 
Filled the red -stone pipes for smoking 
With tobacco from the South-land, 
Mixed with bark of the red willow, 
And with herbs and leaves of fra- 



grance. 
Then she said, 
wis, 



O Pau-Puk-Kee- 



Dance for us your merry dances, 50 
Dance the Beggar's Dance to please 

us, 
That the feast may be more joyous, 
That the time may pass more gayly, 
And our guests be more contented ! " 
Then the handsome Pau-Puk-Kee- 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



169 



He the idle Yenadizze, 
He the merry mischief-maker, 
Whom the people called the Storm- 
Fool, 
Rose among the guests assembled. 
Skilled was he in sports and pas- 
times, 60 
In the merry dance' of snow-shoes, 
In the play of quoits and ball-play ; 
Skilled was he in games of hazard, 
In all games of skill and hazard, 
Pugasaing, the Bowl and Counters, 
Kuntassoo, the Game of Plum-stones. 
Though the warriors called him Faint- 
Heart, 
Called him coward, Shaugodaya, 
Idler, gambler, Yenadizze, 
Little heeded he their jesting, 70 
Little cared he for their insults, 
For the women and the maidens 
Loved the handsome Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis. 
He was dressed in shirt of doeskin, 
White and soft, and fringed with er- 
mine, 
All inwrought with beads of wam- 
pum ; 
He was dressed in deer- skin leggings, 
Fringed with hedgehog quills and er- 
mine, 
And in moccasins of buckskin, 
Thick with quills and beads embroid- 
ered. 80 
On his head were plumes of swan's 

down, 
On his heels were tails of foxes, 
In one hand a fan of feathers, 
And a pipe was in the other. 
Barred with streaks of red and yel- 
' low, 
Streaks of blue and bright vermilion, 
Shone the face of Pau-Puk-Keewis. 
From his forehead fell his tresses, 
Smooth, and .parted like a woman's, 
Shining bright with oil, and plaited, 
Hung with braids of scented grasses, 91 
As among the guests assembled, 
To the sound of flutes and singing, 
To the sound of drums and voices, 
Rose the handsome Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
And began his mystic dances. 

First he danced a solemn measure, 
Very slow in step and gesture, 
In and out among the pine-trees, 
Through the shadows and the sun- 
shine, 100 



Treading softly like a panther. 
Then more swiftly and still swifter, 
Whirling, spinning round in circles, 
Leaping o'er the guests assembled, 
Eddying round and round the wig- 
wam, 
Till the leaves went whirling with 

him, 
Till the dust and wind together 
Swept in eddies round about him. 

Then along the sandy margin 
Of the lake, the Big-Sea-Water, no 
On he sped with frenzied gestures, 
Stamped upon the sand, and tossed it 
Wildly in the air around him ; 
Till the wind became a whirlwind, 
Till the sand was blown and sifted 
Like great snowdrifts o'er the land- 
scape, 
Heaping all the shores with Sand 

Dunes, 
Sand Hills of the Nagow Wudjoo ! 
Thus the merry Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Danced his Beggar's Dance to please 
them. 120 

And, returning, sat down laughing 
There among the guests assembled, 
Sat and fanned himself serenely 
With his fan of turkey -feathers. 
Then they said to Chibiabos, 
To the friend of Hiawatha, 
To the sweetest of all singers, 
To the best of all musicians, 
" Sing to us, O Chibiabos ! 129 

Songs of love and songs of longing, 
That the feast may be more joyous, 
That the time may pass more gayly, 
And our guests be more contented ! " 

And the gentle Chibiabos 
Sang in accents sweet and tender, 
Sang in tones of deep emotion, 
Songs of love and songs of longing ; 
Looking still at Hiawatha, 
Looking at fair Laughing Water, 
Sang he softly, sang in this wise : 140 

" Onaway ! Awake, beloved ! 
Thou the wild-flower of the forest ! 
Thou the wild-bird of the prairie ! 
Thou with eyes so soft and fawn-like ! 

"If thou only lookest at me, 
I am happy, I am happy, 
As the lilies of the prairie, 
When they feel the dew upon them ! 
"Sweet thy breath is as the fra- 
grance 149 
Of the wild-flowers in the morning, 



170 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



As their fragrance is at evening, 

In the Moon when leaves are falling. 

" Does not all the blood within me 
Leap to meet thee, leap to meet thee, 
As the springs to meet the sunshine, 
In the Moon when nights are bright- 
est? 

" Onaway ! my heart sings to thee, 
Sings with joy when thou art near me, 
As the sighing, singing branches 
In the pleasant Moon of Strawberries ! 

"When thou art not pleased, be- 
loved, 161 
Then my heart is sad and darkened, 
As the shining river darkens 
When the clouds drop shadows on it ! 

" When thou smilest, my beloved, 
Then my troubled heart is brightened, 
As in sunshine gleam the ripples 
That the cold wind makes in rivers. 

" Smiles the earth, and smile the 
waters, 
Smile the cloudless skies above us. 170 
But I lose the way of smiling 
When thou art no longer near me ! 

" I myself, myself! behold me! 
Blood of my beating heart, behold me ! 
Oh awake, awake, beloved ! 
Onaway! awake, beloved!" 

Thus the gentle Chibiabos 
Sang his song of love and longing ; 
And Iagoo, the great boaster, 
He the marvellous story-teller, 180 
He the friend of old Nokomis, 
Jealous of the sweet musician, 
Jealous of the applause they gave 

him, 
Saw in all the eyes around him, 
Saw in all their looks and gestures, 
That the wedding guests assembled 
Longed to hear his pleasant stories, 
His immeasurable falsehoods. 

Very boastful was Iagoo ; 
Never heard he an adventure 190 

But himself had met a greater ; 
Never any deed of daring 
But himself had done a bolder ; 
Never any marvellous story 
But himself could tell a stranger. 

Would you listen to his boasting, 
Would you only give him credence, 
No one ever shot an arrow 
Half so far and high as he had 
Ever caught so many fishes, 200 

Ever killed so many reindeer, 
Ever trapped so many beaver ! 



None could run so fast as he could, 
None could dive so deep as he could, 
None could swim so far as he could ; 
None had made so many journeys, 
None had seen so many wonders, 
As this wonderful Iagoo, 
As this marvellous story-teller ! 

Thus his name became a by-word 
And a jest among the people ; 211 

And whene'er a boastful hunter 
Praised his own address too highly,. 
Or a warrior, home returning, 
Talked too much of his achievements, 
All his hearers cried, " Iagoo ! 
Here 's Iagoo come among us ! " 

He it was who carved the cradle 
Of the little Hiawatha, 
Carved its framework out of linden, 
Bound it strong with reindeer sinews ; 
He it was who taught him later 222 
How to make his bows and arrows, 
How to make the bows of ash-tree. 
And the arrows of the oak-tree. 
So among the guests assembled 
At my Hiawatha's wedding 
Sat Iagoo, old and ugly, 
Sat the marvellous story-teller. 

And they said, " O good Iagoo, 230 
Tell us now a tale of wonder, 
Tell us of some strange adventure, 
That the feast may be more joyous, 
That the time may pass more gayly, 
And our guests be more contented ! " 

And Iagoo answered straightway, 
" You shall hear a tale of wonder, 
You shall hear the strange adventures 
Of Osseo, the Magician, 
From the Evening Star descended." 240 



XII 

THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR 

Can it be the sun descending 
O'er the level plain of water ? 
Or the Red Swan floating, flying, 
Wounded by the magic arrow, 
Staining all the waves with crimson, 
With the crimson of its life-blood, 
Filling all the air with splendor, 
With the splendor of its plumage ? 

Yes ; it is the sun descending, 
Sinking down into the water; 1 

All the sky is stained with purple, 
All the water flushed with crimson ! 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



171 




; Can it be the sun descending 
O'er the level plain of water ? 



No ; it is the Red Swan floating, 
Diving down beneath the water ; 
To the sky its wings are lifted, 
With its blood the waves are red- 
dened ! 
Over it the Star of Evening 
Melts and trembles through the pur- 
ple, 
Hangs suspended in the twilight. 
No; it is a bed of wampum 20 

On the robes of the Great Spirit 
As he passes through the twilight, 
Walks in silence through the heavens. 

This with joy beheld Iagoo 
And he said in haste : " Behold it ! 
See the sacred Star of Evening! 
You shall hear a tale of wonder, 
Hear the story of Osseo, 
Son of the Evening Star, Osseo! 
"Once, in days no more remem- 
bered, 3c 



Ages nearer the beginning, 
When the heavens were closer to us, 
And the Gods were more familiar, 
In the North-land lived a hunter, 
With ten young and comely daugh- 
ters, 
Tall and lithe as wands of willow ; 
Only Oweenee, the youngest, 
She the wilful and the wayward, 
She the silent, dreamy maiden, 
Was the fairest of the sisters. 40 

■ ' All these women married warriors, 
Married brave and haughty husbands ; 
Only Oweenee, the youngest, 
Laughed and flouted all her lovers, 
All her young and handsome suitors, 
And then married old Osseo, 
Old Osseo, poor and ugly, 
Broken with age and weak with 

coughing, 
Always coughing like a squirrel. 



: 



172 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



" Ah, but beautiful within him 50 
Was the spirit of Osseo, 
From the Evening Star descended, 
Star of Evening, Star of Woman, 
Star of tenderness and passion ! 
All its fire was in his bosom, 
All its beauty in his spirit, 
All its mystery in his being, 
All its splendor in his language! 

"And her lovers, the rejected, 
Handsome men with belts of wam- 
pum, 60 
Handsome men with paint and feath- 
ers, 
Pointed at her in derision, 
Followed her with jest and laughter. 
But she said : ' I care not for you, 
Care not for your belts of wampum, 
Care not for your paint and feathers, 
Care not for your jests and laughter ; 
I am happy with Osseo ! ' 

"Once to some great feast invited, 
Through the damp and dusk of even- 
ing, 70 
Walked together the ten sisters, 
Walked together with their husbands ; 
Slowly followed old Osseo, 
With fair OAveenee beside him ; 
All the others chatted gayly, 
These two only walked in silence. 

" At the western sky Osseo 
Gazed intent, as if imploring, 
Often stopped and gazed imploring 
At the trembling Star of Evening, 80 
At the tender Star of Woman ; 
And they heard him murmur softly, 
' Ah, slioicain nemeslrin, JVosa ! 
Pity, pity me, my father ! ' 

" ' Listen ! ' said the eldest sister, 
' He is praying to his father ! 
What a pity that the old man 
Does not stumble in the pathway, 
Does not break his neck by falling! ' 
And they laughed till all the forest 90 
Rang with their unseemly laughter. 

"On their pathway through the 
woodlands 
Lay an oak, by storms uprooted, 
Lay the great trunk of an oak-tree, 
Buried half in leaves and mosses, 
Mouldering, crumbling, huge and hol- 
low. 
And Osseo, when he saw it, 
Gave a shout, a cry of anguish, 
Leaped into its yawning cavern, 
At one end went in an old man, 100 



Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly ; 
From the other came a young man, 
Tall and straight and strong and hand- 
some. 
"Thus Osseo was transfigured, 
Thus restored to youth and beauty ; 
But, alas for good Osseo, 
And for Oweenee, the faithful! 
Strangely, too, was she transfigured. 
Changed into a weak old woman, 
With a staff she tottered onward, no 
Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly ! 
And the sisters and their husbands 
Laughed until the echoing forest 
Eang with their unseemly laughter. 
"But Osseo turned not from her, 
Walked with slower step beside her. 
Took her hand, as brown and with- 
ered 
As an oak-leaf is in Winter, 
Called her sweetheart, Nenemoosha, 
Soothed her with soft words of kind- 
ness, 120 
Till they reached the lodge of feast- 
ing, 
Till they sat down in the wigwam, 
Sacred to the Star of Evening, 
To the tender Star of Woman. 

"Wrapt in visions, lost in dream- 
ing, 
At the banquet sat Osseo ; 
All were merry, all were happy, 
All were joyous but Osseo. 
Neither food nor drink he tasted, 
Neither did he speak nor listen, 130 
But as one bewildered sat he, 
Looking dreamily and sadly, 
First at Oweenee, then upward 
At the gleaming sky above them. 
"Then a voice was heard, a whis- 
per, 
Coming from the starry distance, 
Coming from the empty vastness, 
Low, and musical, and tender ; 
And the voice said : ' O Osseo ! 
O my son, my best beloved ! 140 

Broken are the spells that bound you, 
All the charms of the magicians, 
All the magic powers of evil ; 
Come to me ; ascend, Osseo ! 

" 'Taste the food that stands be 
fore you : 
It is blessed and enchanted, 
It has magic virtues in it, 
It will change you to a spirit. 
All your bowls and all your kettles 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



i73 



Shall be wood and clay no longer ; 150 
But the bowls be changed to wampum. 
And the kettles shall be silver ; 
They shall shine like shells of scarlet, 
Like the fire shall gleam and glimmer. 

" 'And the women shall no longer 
Bear the dreary doom of labor, 
But be changed to birds, and glisten 
With the beauty of the starlight, 
Painted with the dusky splendors 
Of the skies and clouds of evening! ' 160 

" What Osseo heard as whispers, 
What as words he comprehended, 
Was but music to the others, 
Music as of birds afar off, 
Of the whippoorwill afar off, 
Of the lonely Wawonaissa 
Singing in the darksome forest. 

"Then the lodge began to tremble, 
Straight began to shake and tremble, 
And they felt it rising, rising, 170 

Slowly through the air ascending, 
From the darkness of the tree-tops 
Forth into the dewy starlight, 
Till it passed the topmost branches ; 
And behold ! the wooden dishes 
All were changed to shells of scarlet ! 
And behold ! the earthen kettles 
All were changed to bowls of silver ! 
And the roof-poles of the wigwam 
Were as glittering rods of silver, 180 
And the roof of bark upon them 
As the shining shards of beetles. 

' ' Then Osseo gazed around him, 
And he saw the nine fair sisters, 
All the sisters and their husbands, 
Changed to birds of various plumage. 
Some were jays and some were mag- 
pies, 
Others thrushes, others blackbirds ; 
And they hopped, and sang, and twit- 
tered, 189 
Perked and fluttered all their feathers, 
Strutted in their shining plumage, 
And their tails like fans unfolded. 

" Only Oweenee, the youngest, 
Was not changed, but sat in silence, 
Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly, 
Looking sadly at the others ; 
Till Osseo, gazing upward, 
Gave another cry of anguish, 
Such a cry as he had uttered 
By the oak-tree in the forest. 200 

1 ' Then returned her youth and 
beauty, 
And her soiled and tattered garments 



Were transformed to robes of ermine, 
And her staff became a feather, 
Yes, a shining silver feather ! 

"And again the wigwam trembled, 
Swayed and rushed through airy cur- 
rents, 
Through transparent cloud and vapor, 
And amid celestial splendors 
On the Evening Star alighted, 210 

As a snow -flake falls on snow-flake, 
As a leaf drops on a river, 
As the thistle-down on water. 

"Forth with cheerful words of wel- 
come 
Came the father of Osseo, 
He with radiant locks of silver, 
He with eyes serene and tender. 
And he said : ' My son, Osseo, 
Hang the cage of birds you bring 

there, 
Hang the cage with rods of silver, 220 
And the birds with glistening feathers, 
At the doorway of my wigwam.' 

" At the door he hung the bird-cage, 
And they entered in and gladly 
Listened to Osseo's father, 
Ruler of the Star of Evening, 
As he said : ' O my Osseo! 
I have had compassion on you, 
Given you back your youth and 

beauty, 
Into birds of various plumage 230 

Changed your sisters and their hus- 
bands ; 
Changed them thus because they 

mocked you 
In the fi gure of the old man, 
In that aspect sad and wrinkled, 
Could not see your heart of passion. 
Could not see your youth immortal ; 
Only Oweenee, the faithful, 
Saw your naked heart and loved you. 
" ' In the lodge that glimmers yon- 
der, 
In the little star that twinkles 240 

Through the vapors, on the left hand, 
Lives the envious Evil Spirit, 
The Wabeno, the magician, 
Who transformed you to an old man. 
Take heed lest his beams fall on you s 
For the rays he darts around him 
Are the power of his enchantment, 
Are the arrows that he uses.' 

"Many years, in peace and quiet, 
On the peaceful Star of Evening 250 
Dwelt Osseo with his father : 



174 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Many years, in song and nutter, 
At the doorway of the wigwam, 
Hung the cage with rods of silver, 
And fair Oweenee, the faithful, 
Bore a son unto Osseo, 
"With the beauty of his mother, 
With the courage of his father. 

"And the boy grew up and pros- 
pered, 
And Osseo, to delight him, 260 

Made him little bows and arrows, 
Opened the great cage of silver, 
And let loose his aunts and uncles, 
All those birds with glossy feathers, 
For his little son to shoot at. 

' ' Round and round they wheeled 
and darted, 
Filled the Evening Star with music, 
With their songs of joy and freedom ; 
Filled the Evening Star with splendor, 
With the fluttering of their plumage ; 
Till the boy, the little hunter, 271 

Bent his bow and shot an arrow, 
Shot a swift and fatal arrow, 
And a bird, with shining feathers, 
At his feet fell wounded sorely. 

" But, O wondrous transforma- 
tion ! 
'T was no bird he saw before him, 
'T was a beautiful young woman, 
With the arrow in her bosom ! 

' ' When her blood fell on the 
planet, 280 

On the sacred Star of Evening, 
Broken was the spell of magic, 
Powerless was the strange enchant- 
ment, 
And the youth, the fearless bowman, 
Suddenly felt himself descending, 
Held by unseen hands, but sinking 
Downward through the empty spaces, 
Downward through the clouds and 

vapors, 
Till he rested on an island, 
On an island, green and grassy, 290 
Yonder in the Big- Sea-Water. 

" After him he saw descending 
All the birds with shining feathers, 
Fluttering, falling, wafted down- 
ward, 
Like the painted leaves of Autumn ; 
And the lodge with poles of silver, 
With its roof like wings of beetles, 
Like the shining shards of beetles, 
By the winds of heaven uplifted, 
Slowly sank upon the island, 300 



Bringing back the good Osseo, 
Bringing Oweenee, the faithful. 

" Then the birds, again transfigured, 
Reassumed the shape of mortals, 
Took their shape, but not their stat- 
ure ; 
They remained as Little People, 
Like the pygmies, the Puk-Wudjies, 
And on pleasant nights of Summer, 
When the Evening Star was shining, 
Hand in hand they danced together 310 
On the island's craggy headlands, 
On the sand-beach low and level. 

" Still their glittering lodge is seen 
there, 
On the tranquil Summer evenings, 
And upon the shore the fisher 
Sometimes hears their happy voices, 
Sees them dancing in the starlight ! " 

When the story was completed, 
When the wondrous tale was ended, 
Looking round upon his listeners, 320 
Solemnly Iagoo added : 
" There are great men, I have known 

such, 
Whom their people understand not, 
Whom they even make a jest of, 
Scoff and jeer at in derision. 
From the story of Osseo 
Let us learn the fate of jesters! " 

All the wedding guests delighted 
Listened to the marvellous story, 
Listened laughing and applauding, 330 
And they whispered to each other : 
" Does he mean himself, I wonder? 
And are we the aunts and uncles?" 

Then again sang Chibiabos, 
Sang a song of love and longing, 
In those accents sweet and tender, 
In those tones of pensive sadness, 
Sang a maiden's lamentation 
For her lover, her Algonquin. 

" When I think of my beloved, 340 
Ah me! think of my beloved, 
When my heart is thinking of him, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin! 

" Ah me ! when I parted from him, 
Round my neck he hung the wam- 
pum, 
As a pledge, the snow-white wam- 
pum, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin! 

"I will go with you, he whispered, 
Ah me ! to your native country ; 
Let me go with you, he whispered, 350 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin \ 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



175 



" Faraway, away, I answered, 
Very far away, I answered, 
Ah me ! is my native country, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

"When I looked back to behold 
him, 
Where we parted, to behold him, 
After me he still was gazing, 
my. sweetheart, my Algonquin! 

' ' By the tree he still was standing, 
By the fallen tree was standing, 361 
That had dropped into the water, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

" When I think of my beloved, 
Ah me ! think of my beloved, 
When my heart is thinking of him, 
my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! " 

Such was Hiawatha's Wedding. 
Such the dance of Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Such the story of Iagoo, 370 

Such the songs of Chibiabos ; 
Thus the wedding banquet ended, 
And the wedding guests departed, 
Leaving Hiawatha happy 
With the night and Minnehaha. 



XIII 

BLESSING THE CORNFIELDS 

Sing, O Song of Hiawatha, 

Of the happy days that followed, 

In the land of the Ojibways, 

In the pleasant land and peaceful ! 

Sing the mysteries of Mondamin, 

Sing the Blessing of the Cornfields ! 

Buried was the bloody hatchet, 
Buried was the dreadful war-club, 
Buried were all warlike weapons, 
And the war-cry was forgotten. 10 
There was peace among the nations: 
Unmolested roved the hunters, 
Built the birch canoe for sailing, 
Caught the fish in lake and river, 
Shot the deer and trapped the beaver ; 
Unmolested worked the women. 
Made their sugar from the maple, 
Gathered wild rice in the meadows, 
Dressed the skins of deer and beaver. 

All around the happy village 20 
Stood the maize - fields, green and 

shining, 
Waved the green plumes of Mon- 
damin, 
Waved his soft and sunny tresses, 



Filling all the land with plenty. 
'T was the women who in Spring- 
time 
Planted the broad fields and fruitful, 
Buried in the earth Mondamin ; 
'T was the women who in Autumn 
Stripped the yellow husks of har- 
vest, 
Stripped the garments from Mon- 
damin, 30 
Even as Hiawatha taught them. 
Once, when all the maize was 
planted, 
Hiawatha, wise and thoughtful, 
Spake and said to Minnehaha, 
To his wife, the Laughing Water : 
" You shall bless to-night the corn- 
fields, 
Draw a magic circle round them, 
To protect them from destruction, 
Blast of mildew, blight of insect, 
Wagemin, the thief of cornfields, 40 
Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear ! 
"In the night, when all is silence, 
In the night, when all is darkness, 
When the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin, 
Shuts the doors of all the wigwams, 
So that not an ear can hear you, 
So that not an eye can see you, 
Rise up from your bed in silence, 
Lay aside your garments wholly, 
Walk around the fields you planted, 50 
Round the borders of the cornfields, 
Covered by your tresses only, 
Robed with darkness as a garment. 
" Thus the fields shall be more fruit- 
ful, 
And the passing of your footsteps 
Draw a magic circle round them, 
So that neither blight nor mildew, 
Neither burrowing worm nor insect, 
Shall pass o'er the magic circle; 
Not the dragon-fly, Kwo-ne-she, 60 
Nor the spider, Subbekashe, 
Nor the grasshopper, Pah-puk-keena, 
Nor the mighty caterpillar, 
Way-muk-kwana, with the bear-skin, 
King of all the caterpillars!" 

On the tree-tops near the cornfields 
Sat the hungry crows and ravens, 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 
With his band of black marauders. 
And they laughed at Hiawatha, 7a 
Till the tree-tops shook with laughter, 
With their melancholy laughter, 
At the words of Hiawatha. 



176 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



"Hear him!" said they; "hear the 

Wise Man, 
Hear the plots of Hiawatha!" 

When the noiseless night descended 
Broad and dark o'er field and forest, 
When the mournful Wawonaissa 
Sorrowing sang among the hemlocks, 
And the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin, 80 
Shut the doors of all the wigwams, 
From her bed rose Laughing Water, 
Laid aside her garments wholly, 
And with darkness clothed and 

guarded, 
Unashamed and unaffrighted, 
Walked securely round the cornfields, 
Drew the sacred, magic circle 
Of her footprints round the cornfields. 

No one but the Midnight only 
Saw her beauty in the darkness, 90 
No one but the Wawonaissa 
Heard the panting of her bosom; 
Guskewau, the darkness, wrapped her 
Closely in his sacred mantle, 
So that none might see her beauty, 
So that none might boast, ' ' I saw 
her ! " 

On the morrow, as the day dawned, 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 
Gathered all his black marauders, 
Crows and blackbirds, jays and ra- 
vens, 100 
Clamorous on the dusky tree- tops, 
And descended, fast and fearless, 
On the fields of Hiawatha, 
On the grave of the Mondamin. 

" We will drag Mondamin," said 
they, 
' ' From the grave where he is buried, 
Spite of all the magic circles 
Laughing Water draws around it, 
Spite of all the sacred footprints 
Minnehaha stamps upon it ! " no 

But the wary Hiawatha, 
Ever thoughtful, careful, watchful, 
Had o'erheard the scornful laughter 
When they mocked him from the 

tree-tops. 
"Kaw!" he said, "my friends the 

Ravens 
Kahgahgee, my King of Ravens! 
I will teach you all a lesson 
That shall not be soon forgotten ! " 

He had risen before the daybreak, 
He had spread o'er all the cornfields 120 
Snares to catch the black marauders, 
And was lying now in ambush 



In the neighboring grove of pine-trees, 
Waiting for the crows and blackbirds, 
Waiting for the jays and ravens. 

Soon they came with caw and clamor, 
Rush of wings and cry of voices, 
To their work of devastation, 
Settling down upon the cornfields, 
Delving deep with beak and talon 130 
For the body of Mondamin. 
And with all their craft and cunning, 
All their skill in wiles of warfare, 
They perceived no danger near them, 
Till their claws became" entangled, 
Till they found themselves imprisoned 
In the snares of Hiawatha. 

From his place of ambush came he, 
Striding terrible among them, 
And so awful was his aspect 140 

That the bravest quailed with terror. 
Without mercy he destroyed, them 
Right and left, by tens and twenties, 
And their wretched, lifeless bodies 
Hung aloft on poles for scarecrows 
Round the consecrated cornfields, 
As a signal of his vengeance, 
As a warning to marauders. 

Only Kahgahgee, the leader, 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 150 
He alone was spared among them, 
As a hostage for his people. 
With his prisoner-string he bound him, 
Led him captive to his wigwam, 
Tied him fast with cords of elm-bark 
To the ridge-pole of his wigwam. 

" Kahgahgee, my raven! " said he, 
" You the leader of the robbers, 
You the plotter of this mischief, 
The contriver of this outrage, 160 

I will keep you, I will hold you, 
As a hostage for your people, 
As a pledge of good behavior ! " 

And he left him, grim and sulky, 
Sitting in the morning sunshine 
On the summit of the wigwam, 
Croaking fiercely his displeasure, 
Flapping his great sable pinions, 
Vainly struggling for his freedom, 
Vainly calling on his people ! 170 

Summer passed, and Shawondasee 
Breathed his sighs o'er all the land- 
scape, 
From the South-land sent his ardors, 
Wafted kisses warm and tender ; 
And the maize-field grew and ripened, 
Till it stood in all the splendor 
Of its garments green and yellow, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



177 



Of its tassels and its plumage, 
And the maize-ears full and shining 
Gleamed from bursting sheaths of 
verdure. 180 

Then Nokomis, the old woman, 
Spake, and said to Minnehaha: 
" 'T is the Moon when leaves are fall- 
ing ; 
All the wild rice has been gathered, 
And the maize is ripe and ready ; 
Let us gather in the harvest, 
Let us wrestle with Mondamin, 
Strip him of his plumes and tassels, 
Of his garments green and yellow ! " 

And the merry Laughing Water 190 
Went rejoicing from the wigwam, 
With Nokomis, old and wrinkled, 
And they called the women round 

them, 
Called the young men and the maidens, 
To the harvest of the cornfields, 
To the husking of the maize-ear. 

On the border of the forest, 
Underneath the fragrant pine-trees, 
Sat the old men and the warriors 
Smoking in the pleasant shadow. 200 
In uninterrupted silence 
Looked they at the gamesome labor 
Of the young men and the women ; 
Listened to their noisy talking, 
To their laughter and their singing, 
Heard them chattering like the mag- 
pies, 
Heard them laughing like the blue- 
jays, 
Heard them singing like the robins. 

And whene'er some lucky maiden 
Found a red ear in the husking, 210 
Found a maize-ear red as blood is, 
" Nushka ! " cried they all together, 
"Nushka! you shall have a sweet- 
heart, 
You shall have a handsome husband ! " 
"Ugh ! " the old men all responded 
From their seats beneath the pine-trees. 

And whene'er a youth or maiden 
Found a crooked ear in husking, 
Found a maize-ear in the husking 
Blighted, mildewed, or misshapen, 220 
Then they laughed and sang together, 
Crept and limped about the cornfields, 
Mimicked in their gait and gestures 
Some old man, bent almost double, 
Singing singly or together: 
" Wagemin, the thief of cornfields! 
Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear ! " 



Till the cornfields rang with laugh- 
ter, 
Till from Hiawatha's wigwams 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 230 
Screamed and quivered in his anger, 
And from all the neighboring tree-tops 
Cawed and croaked the black maraud- 
ers. 
"Ugh ! " the old men all responded, 
From their seats beneath the pine- 
trees ! 

XIV 

PICTURE-WRITING 

In those days said Hiawatha, 

"Lo ! how all things fade and perish! 

From the memory of the old men 

Pass away the great traditions, 

The achievements of the warriors, 

The adventures of the hunters, 

All the wisdom of the Medas, 

All the craft of the Wabenos, 

All the marvellous dreams and visions 

Of the Jossakeeds, the Prophets ! 10 

" Great men die and are forgotten. 
Wise men speak ; their words of wis- 
dom 
Perish in the ears that hear them, 
Do not reach the generations 
That, as yet unborn, are waiting 
In the great, mysterious darkness 
Of the speechless days that shall be ! 

" On the grave-posts of our fathers 
Are no signs, no figures painted ; 
Who are in those graves we know 
not, 20 

Only know they are our fathers. 
Of what kith they are and kindred, 
From what old, ancestral Totem, 
Be it Eagle, Bear, or Beaver, 
They descended, this we know not, 
Only know they are our fathers. 

" Face to face we speak together, 
But we cannot speak when absent, 
Cannot send our voices from us 
To the friends that dwell afar off; 30 
Cannot send a secret message, 
But the bearer learns our secret, 
May pervert it, may betray it, 
May reveal it unto others. 

Thus said Hiawatha, walking 
In the solitary forest, 
Pondering, musing in the forest, 
On the welfare of his people. 



i 7 8 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



From his pouch he took his colors, 
Took his paints of different colors, 40 
On the smooth bark of a birch-tree 
Painted many shapes and figures, 
Wonderful and mystic figures, 
And each figure had a meaning, 
Each some word or thought suggested. 

Gitche Manito the Mighty, 
He, the Master of Life, was painted 
As an egg, with points projecting 
To the four winds of the heavens. 
Everywhere is the Great Spirit, 50 
Was the meaning of this symbol. 

Mitche Manito the Mighty, 
He the dreadful Spirit of Evil, 
As a serpent was depicted, 
As Kenabeek, the great serpent. 
Very crafty, very cunning, 
Is the creeping Spirit of Evil, 
Was the meaning of this symbol. 

Life and Death he drew as circles, 
Life was white, but Death was dark- 
ened ; 60 
Sun and moon and stars he painted, 
Man and beast, and fish and reptile, 
Forests, mountains, lakes, and rivers. 

For the earth he drew a straight line, 
For the sky a bow above it ; 
White the space between for daytime, 
Filled with little stars for night-time ; 
On the left a point for sunrise, 
On the right a point for sunset, 
On the top a point for noontide, 70 
And for rain and cloudy weather 
Waving lines descending from it. 

Footprints pointing towards a wig- 
wam 
Were a sign of invitation, 
Were a sign of guests assembling ; 
Bloody hands with palms uplifted 
Were a symbol of destruction, 
Were a hostile sign and symbol. 

All these things did Hiawatha 
Show unto his wondering people, 80 
And interpreted their meaning, 
And he said: "Behold, your grave- 
posts 
Have no mark, no sign, nor symbol 
Go and paint them all with figures; 
Each one with its household symbol, 
With its own ancestral Totem ; 
So that those who follow after 
May distinguish them and know 
them." 

And they painted on the grave posts 
On the graves yet unforgotten 90 



Each his own ancestral Totem, 
Each the symbol of his household ; 
Figures of the Bear and Reindeer, 
Of the Turtle, Crane, and Beaver, 
Each inverted as a token 
That the owner was departed, 
That the chief who bore the symbol 
Lay beneath in dust and ashes. 

And the Jossakeeds, the Prophets, 
The Wabenos, the Magicians, 100 

And the Medicine-men, the Medas, 
Painted upon bark and deer-skin 
Figures for the songs they chanted, 
For each song a separate symbol, 
Figures mystical and awful, 
Figures strange and brightly colored ; 
And each figure had its meaning, 
Each some magic song suggested. 

The Great Spirit, the Creator, 
Flashing light through all the heaven ; 
The Great Serpent, the Kenabeek, m 
With his bloody crest erected, 
Creeping, looking into heaven ; 
In the sky the sun, that listens, 
And the moon eclipsed and dying ; 
Owl and eagle, crane and hen-hawk, 
And the cormorant, bird of magic ; 
Headless men, that walk the heavens, 
Bodies lying pierced with arrows, 
Bloody hands of death uplifted, 120 
Flags on graves, and great war-cap- 
tains 
Grasping both the earth and heaven I 

Such as these the shapes they 
painted 
On the birch-bark and the deer-skin ; 
Songs of war and songs of hunting, 
Songs of medicine and of magic, 
All were written in these figures, 
For each figure had its meaning, 
Each its separate song recorded. 

Nor forgotten was the Love-Song, 130 
The most subtle of all medicines, 
The most potent spell of magic, 
Dangerous more than war or hunting ! 
Thus the Love-Song was recorded, 
Symbol and interpretation. 

First a human figure standing, 
Painted in the brightest scarlet ; 
'T is the lover, the musician, 
And the meaning is, " My painting 
Makes me powerful over others. 140 

Then the figure seated, singing, 
Playing on a drum of magic, 
And the interpretation, ' ' Listen ! 
'T is my voice you hear, my singing ! " 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



179 



Then the same red figure seated 
In the shelter of a wigwam, 
And the meaning of the symbol, 
" I will come and sit beside you 
In the mystery of my passion ! " 

Then two figures, man and woman, 
Standing hand in hand together 151 
With their hands so clasped together 
That they seemed in one united, 
And the words thus represented 
Are, " I see your heart within you, 
And your cheeks are red with 
blushes! " 

Next the maiden on an island, 
In the centre of an island ; 
And the song this shape suggested 



In the land of Sleep and Silence, 
Still the voice of love would reach 
you ! " 170 

And the last of all the figures 
Was a heart within a circle, 
Drawn within a magic circle ; 
And the image had this meaning: 
" Naked lies your heart before me, 
To your naked heart I whisper ! " 

Thus it was that Hiawatha, 
In his wisdom, taught the people 
All the mysteries of painting, 
All the art of Picture-Writing, 1S0 

On the smooth bark of the birch-tree, 
On the white skin of the reindeer, 
On the grave-posts of the village. 




' Such as these the shapes they painted 
On the birch-bark and the deer-skin " 



Was, ' ' Though you were at a distance, 
Were upon some far-off island, 161 
Such the spell I cast upon you, 
Such the magic power of passion, 
I could straightway draw you to me! " 

Then the figure of the maiden 
Sleeping, and the lover near her, 
Whispering to her in her slumbers, 
Saying, " Though you were far from 



XV 

hiawatha's lamentation 

In those days the Evil Spirits, 
All the Manitos of mischief, 
Fearing Hiawatha's wisdom, 
And his love for Chibiabos, 
Jealous of their faithful friendship, 
And their noble words and actions, 



i8o 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Made at length a league against them, 
To molest them and destroy them. 

Hiawatha, wise and wary, 
Often said to Chibiabos. 10 

" O my brother! do not leave me, 
Lest the Evil Spirits harm you ! " 
Chibiabos, young and heedless, 
Laughing shook his coal-black tresses, 
Answered ever sweet and childlike, 
' ' Do not fear for me, O brother ! 
Harm and evil come not near me! " 

Once when Peboan, the Winter, 
Roofed with ice the Big-Sea-Water, 
When the snow-flakes, whirling down- 
ward, 20 
Hissed among the withered oak -leaves, 
Changed the pine-trees into wigwams, 
Covered all the earth with silence, — 
Armed with arrows, shod with snow- 
shoes, 
Heeding not his brother's warning, 
Fearing not the Evil Spirits, 
Forth to hunt the deer with antlers 
All alone went Chibiabos. 

Right across the Big-Sea-Water 29 
Sprang with speed the deer before him. 
With the wind and snow he followed, 
O'er the treacherous ice he followed, 
Wild with all the fierce commotion 
And the rapture of the hunting. 

But beneath, the Evil Spirits 
Lay in ambush, waiting for him, 
Broke the treacherous ice beneath him, 
Dragged him downward to the bottom, 
Buried in the sand his body. 
Unktahee, the god of water, 40 

He the god of the Dacotahs, 
Drowned him in the deep abysses 
Of the lake of Gitche Gumee. 

From the headlands Hiawatha 
Sent forth such a wail of anguish, 
Such a fearful lamentation, 
That the bison paused to listen, 
And the wolves howled from the 

prairies, 
And the thunder in the distance 
Starting answered " Baim-wawa!" 50 

Then his face with black he painted, 
With his robe his hand he covered, 
In his wigwam sat lamenting, 
Seven long weeks he sat lamenting, 
Uttering still this moan of sorrow : — 

" He is dead, the sweet musician! 
He the sweetest of all singers ! 
He has gone from us forever, 
He has moved a litter nearer 



To the Master of all music, 60 

To the Master of all singing ! 
O my brother, Chibiabos ! " 

And the melancholy fir-trees 
Waved their dark green fans above 

him, 
Waved their purple cones above him, 
Sighing with him to console him, 
Mingling with his lamentation 
Their complaining, their lamenting. 

Came the Spring, and all the forest 
Looked in vain for Chibiabos ; 70 

Sighed the rivulet, Sebowisha, 
Sighed the rushes in the meadow. 

From the tree-tops sang the blue- 
bird, 
Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, 
' ' Chibiabos ! Chibiabos ! 
He is dead, the sweet musician!" 

From the wigwam sang the robin, 
Sang the robin, the Opechee, 
' ' Chibiabos ! Chibiabos ! 
He is dead, the sweetest singer! " 80 

And at night through all the forest 
Went the whippoorwill complaining, 
Wailing went the Wawonaissa, 
" Chibiabos! Chibiabos ! 
He is dead, the sweet musician ! 
He the sweetest of all singers ! " 

Then the Medicine-men, the Medas, 
The magicians, the Wabenos, 
And the Jossakeeds, the Prophets, 
Came to visit Hiawatha; 90 

Built a Sacred Lodge beside him, 
To appease him, to console him, 
Walked in silent, grave procession, 
Bearing each a pouch of healing, 
Skin of beaver, lynx, or otter, 
Filled with magic roots and simples, 
Filled with very potent medicines. 

When he heard their steps approach- 
ing, 
Hiawatha ceased lamenting, 
Called no more on Chibiabos ; 100 

Naught he questioned, naught he an- 
swered, 
But his mournful head uncovered, 
From his face the mourning colors 
Washed he slowly and in silence, 
Slowly and in silence followed 
Onward to the Sacred Wigwam, 

There a magic drink they gave him, 
Made of Nohma-wusk, the spearmint, 
And Wabeno-wusk, the yarrow, 
Roots of power, and herbs of heal- 
ing ; iic 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



181 



Beat their drums, and shook their 

rattles ; 
Chanted singly and in chorus, 
Mystic songs like these, they chanted. 

" I myself, myself! behold me ! 
Tis the great Gray Eagle talking; 
Come, ye white crows, come and hear 

him ! 
The loud-speaking thunder helps me ; 
All the unseen spirits help me; 
I can hear their voices calling, 
All around the sky I hear them. 120 
I can blow you strong, my brother, 
I can heal you, Hiawatha! " 

" Hi-au-ha ! " replied the chorus, 
" Way-ha-way ! " the mystic chorus. 
"Friends of mine are all the ser- 
pents ! 
Hear me shake my skin of hen-hawk ! 
Mahng, the white loon, I can kill 

him ; 
I can shoot your heart and kill it ! 
I can blow you strong, my brother, 
I can heal you, Hiawatha ! " 130 

" Hi-au-ha ! " replied the chorus. 
"Way-ha-way ! " the mystic chorus. 

"I myself, myself! the prophet! 
When I speak the wigwam trembles, 
Shakes the Sacred Lodge with terror, 
Hands unseen begin to shake it ! 
When I walk, the sky I tread on 
Bends and makes a noise beneath me ! 
I can blow you strong, my brother ! 
Rise and speak, O Hiawatha ! " 140 

"Hi-au-ha!" replied the chorus, 
" Way-ha-way ! " the mystic chorus. 
Then they shook their medicine- 
pouches 
O'er the head of Hiawatha, 
Danced their medicine-dance around 

him ; 
And upstarting wild and haggard, 
Like a man from dreams awakened, 
He was healed of all his madness. 
As the clouds are swept from heaven 
Straightway from his brain departed 
All his moody melancholy ; 151 

As the ice is swept from rivers, 
Straightway from his heart departed 
All his sorrow and affliction. 

Then they summoned Chibiabos 
From his grave beneath the waters, 
From the sands of Gitche Gumee 
Summoned Hiawatha's brother. 
And so mighty was the magic 
Of that cry and invocation, 160 



That he heard it as he lay there 
Underneath the Big-Sea- Water ; 
From the sand he rose and listened, 
Heard the music and the singing, 
Came, obedient to the summons, 
To the doorway of the wigwam, 
But to enter they forbade him. 
Through a chink a coal they gave 
him, 
Through the door a burning fire- 
brand ; 
Ruler in the Land of Spirits, 170 

Ruler o'er the dead, they made him, 
Telling him a fire to kindle 
For all those that died thereafter, 
Camp-fires for their night encamp- 
ments 
On their solitary journey 
To the kingdom of Ponemah, 
To the land of the Hereafter. 

From the village of his childhood, 
From the homes of those who knew 

him, 
Passing silent through the forest, 180 
Like a smoke-wreath wafted side- 
ways, 
Slowly vanished Chibiabos! 
Where he passed, the branches moved 

not, 
Where he trod, the grasses bent not, 
And the fallen leaves of last year 
Made no sound beneath his footsteps. 
Four whole days he journej^ed on- 
ward 
Down the pathway of the dead men; 
On the dead-man's strawberry feasted, 
Crossed the melancholy river, ' 190 
On the swinging log he crossed it, 
Came unto the Lake of Silver, 
In the Stone Canoe was carried 
To the Islands of the Blessed, 
To the land of ghosts and shadows. 
On that journey, moving slowly, 
Many weary spirits saw he, 
Panting under heavy burdens, 
Laden with war-clubs, bows and 

arrows. 
Robes of fur, and pots and kettles, 20c 
And with food that friends had given 
For that solitary journey. 

" Ay ! why do the living," said they, 
' ' Lay such heavy burdens on us ! 
Better were it to go naked, 
Better were it to go fasting, 
Than to bear such heavy burdens 
On our long and weary journey ! " 



l82 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Forth then issued Hiawatha, 

Wandered eastward, wandered west- 
ward, 2IO 

Teaching men the use of simples 

And the antidotes for poisons, 

And the cure of all diseases. 

Thus was first made known to mor- 
tals 

All the mystery of Medamin, 

All the sacred art of healing. 



XVI 

PAU-PUK-KEEWIS 

You shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
He, the handsome Yenadizze, 
Whom the people called the Storm- 
Fool, 
Vexed the village with disturbance ; 
You shall hear of all his mischief, 
And his flight from Hiawatha, 
And his wondrous transmigrations, 
And the end of his adventures. 

On the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo, 10 
By the shining Big-Sea-Water 
Stood the lodge of Pau-Puk-Keewis. 
It was he who in his frenzy 
Whirled these drifting sands together, 
On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo, 
When, among the guests assembled, 
He so merrily and madly 
Danced at Hiawatha's wedding, 
Danced the Beggar's Dance to please 
them. 

Now, in search of new adventures, 
From his lodge went Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis, 21 
Came with speed into the village, 
Found the young men all assembled 
In the lodge of old Iagoo, 
Listening to his monstrous stories, 
To his wonderful adventures. 

He was telling them the story 
Of Ojeeg, the Summer-Maker, 
How he made a hole in heaven, 
How he climbed up into heaven, 30 
And let out the summer- weather, 
The perpetual, pleasant summer ; 
How the Otter first essayed it ; 
How the Beaver, Lynx, and Badger 
Tried in turn the great achievement, 
From the summit of the mountain 
Smote their fists against the heavens, 



Smote against the sky their foreheads, 
Cracked the sky, but could not break 

it; 
How the Wolverine, uprising, 40 

Made him ready for the encounter, 
Bent his knees down, like a squirrel, 
Drew his arms back, like a cricket. 

" Once he leaped," said old Iagoo, 
" Once he leaped, and lo ! above him 
Bent the sky, as ice in rivers 
When the waters rise beneath it; 
Twice he leaped, and lo! above him 
Cracked the sky, as ice in rivers 
When the freshet is at highest ! 50 

Thrice he leaped, and lo ! above him 
Broke the shattered sky asunder, 
And he disappeared within it, 
And Ojeeg, the Fisher Weasel, 
With a bound went in behind him ! " 

"Hark you!" shouted Pau-Puk 
Keewis 
As he entered at the doorway ; 
"lam tired of all this talking, 
Tired of old Iagoo' s stories, 
Tired of Hiawatha's wisdom. 60 

Here is something to amuse you, 
Better than this endless talking." 

Then from out his pouch of wolf- 
skin 
Forth he drew, with solemn manner, 
All the game of Bowl and Counters, 
Pugasaing, with thirteen pieces. 
White on one side were they painted, 
And vermilion on the other ; 
Two Kenabeeks or great serpents, 
Two Ininewug or wedge-men, 70 

One great war-club, Pugamaugun, 
And one slender fish, the Keego, 
Four round pieces, Ozawabeeks, 
And three Sheshebwug or ducklings. 
All were made of bone and painted, 
All except the Ozawabeeks; 
These were brass, on one side bur- 
nished, 
And were black upon the other, 

In a wooden bowl he placed them, 
Shook and jostled them together, 80 
Threw them on the ground before 

him, 
Thus exclaiming and explaining : 
"Red side up are all the pieces, 
And one great Kenabeek standing 
On the bright side of a brass piece, 
On a burnished Ozawabeek ; 
Thirteen tens and eight are counted." 

Then again he shook the pieces, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



183 



Shook and jostled them together, 
Threw them 011 the ground before him, 
Still exclaiming and explaining: 91 
" White are both the great Kenabeeks, 
White the Ininewug, the wedge-men, 
Red are all the other pieces ; 
Five tens and an eight are counted." 

Thus he taught the game of hazard, 
Thus displayed it and explained it, 
Running through its various chances, 
Various changes, various meanings : 
Twenty curious eyes stared at him, 100 
Full of eagerness stared at him. 
" Many games," said old Iagoo, 
' ' Many games of skill and hazard 
Have I seen in different nations, 
Have I played in different countries. 
He who plays with old Iagoo 
Must have very nimble fingers ; 
Though you think yourself so skilful, 
I can beat you, Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
I can even give you lessons no 

In your game of Bowl and Counters ! " 
So they sat and played together, 
All the old men and the young men, 
Played for dresses, weapons, wam- 
pum, 
Played till midnight, played till morn- 
ing, 
Played until the Yenadizze, 
Till the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Of their treasures had despoiled them, 
Of the best of all their dresses, 
Shirts of deer-skin, robes of ermine, 120 
Belts of wampum, crests of feathers, 
Warlike weapons, pipes and pouches. 
Twenty eyes glared wildly at him, 
Like the eyes of wolves glared at him. 

Said the lucky Pau-Puk-Keewis : 
" In my wigwam I am lonely, 
In my wanderings and adventures 
I have need of a companion, 
Fain would have a Meshinauwa, 
An attendant and pipe -bearer. 130 

I will venture all these winnings, 
All these garments heaped about me, 
All this wampum, all these feathers, 
On a single throw will venture 
All against the young man yonder ! " 
'T was a youth of sixteen summers, 
T was a nephew of Iagoo ; 
Face-in-a-Mist, the people called him. 

As the fire burns in a pipe-head 
Dusky red beneath the ashes, 140 

So beneath his shaggy eyebrows 
Glowed the eyes of old Iagoo. 



" Ugh ! " he answered very fiercely ; 
" Ugh ! " they answered all and each 
one. 

Seized the wooden bowl the old 
man, 
Closely in his bony fingers 
Clutched the fatal bowl, Onagon, 
Shook it fiercely and with fury, 
Made the pieces ring together, 
As he threw them down before him. 150 

Red were both the great Kenabeeks, 
Red the Ininewug, the wedge -men, 
Red the Sheshebwug, the ducklings, 
Black the four brass Ozawabeeks, 
White alone the fish, the Keego ; 
Only five the pieces counted ! 

Then the smiling Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Shook the bowl and threw the pieces ; 
Lightly in the air he tossed them, 
And they fell about him scattered ; 160 
Dark and bright the Ozawabeeks, 
Red and white the other pieces, 
And upright among the others 
One Ininewug was standing, 
Even as crafty Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Stood alone among the players, 
Saying, "Five tens! mine the game 
is ! " 

Twenty eyes glared at him fiercely, 
Like the eyes of wolves glared at 

him, 
As he turned and left the wigwam, 170 
Followed by his Meshinauwa, 
By the nephew of Iagoo, 
By the tall and graceful stripling, 
Bearing in his arms the winnings, 
Shirts of deer-skin, robes of ermine, 
Belts of wampum, pipes and weapons. 

"Carry them," said Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis, 
Pointing with his fan of feathers, 
" To my wigwam far to eastward. 
On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo! " 

Hot and red with smoke and gam- 
bling 181 
Were the eyes of Pau-Puk-Keewis 
As he came forth to the freshness 
Of the pleasant Summer morning. 
All the birds were singing gayly, 
All the streamlets flowing swiftly, 
And the heart of Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Sang with pleasure as the birds sing, 
Beat with triumph like the streamlets, 
As he wandered through the village, 
In the early gray of morning, 191 
With his fan of turkey-feathers, 



184 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



With his plumes and tufts of swan's 

down, 
Till he reached the farthest wigwam, 
Reached the lodge of Hiawatha. 

Silent was it and deserted ; 
No one met him at the doorway, 
No one came to bid him welcome ; 
But the birds were singing round it, 
In and out and round the doorway, 200 
Hopping* singing, fluttering, feeding, 
And aloft upon the ridge-pole 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 
Sat with fiery eyes, and, screaming, 
Flapped his wings at Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis. 

' ' All are gone ! the lodge is empty ! " 
Thus it was spake Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
In his heart resolving mischief ; — 
" Gone is wary Hiawatha, 
Gone the silly Laughing Water, 210 
Gone Nokomis, the old woman, 
And the lodge is left unguarded!" 

By the neck he seized the raven, 
Whirled it round him like a rattle, 
Like a medicine-pouch he shook it, 
Strangled Kahgahgee. the raven, 
From the ridge-pole of the wigwam 
Left its lifeless body hanging, 
As an insult to its master, 
As a taunt to Hiawatha. 220 

With a stealthy step he entered, 
Round the lodge in wild disorder 
Threw the household things about him, 
Piled together in confusion 
Bowls of wood and earthen kettles, 
Robes of buffalo and beaver, 
Skins of otter, lynx, and ermine, 
As an insult to Nokomis, 
As a taunt to Minnehaha. 

Then departed Pau-Puk-Keewis, 230 
Whistling, singing through the forest, 
Whistling gayly to the squirrels, 
Who from hollow boughs above him 
Dropped their acorn-shells upon him, 
Singing gayly to the wood birds, 
Who from out the leafy darkness 
Answered with a song as merry. 

Then he climbed the rocky head- 
lands, 
Looking o'er the Gitche Gumee, 
Perched himself upon their summit, 240 
Waiting full of mirth and mischief 
The return of Hiawatha. 

Stretched upon his back he lay 
there ; 
Far below him plashed the waters, ' 



Plashed and washed the dreamy wa- 
ters ; 
Far above him swam the heavens, 
Swam the dizzy, dreamy heavens ; 
Round him hovered, fluttered, rustled 
Hiawatha's mountain chickens, 
Flock- wise swept and wheeled about 
him, 250 

Almost brushed him with their pin- 
ions. 
And he killed them as he lay there, 
Slaughtered them by tens and twen- 
ties, 
Threw their bodies down the head- 
land, 
Threw them on the beach below him, 
Till at length Kayoshk, the sea-gull, 
Perched upon a crag above them, 
Shouted : " It is Pau-Puk-Keewis ! 
He is slaying us by hundreds ! 
Send a message to our brother, 260 
Tidings send to Hiawatha! " 

XVII 

THE HUNTING OF PAU-PUK-KEEWIS 

Full of wrath was Hiawatha 
When he came into the village, 
Found the people in confusion, 
Heard of all the misdemeanors, 
All the malice and the mischief, 
Of the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis. 
Hard his breath came through his 
nostrils, 
Through his teeth he buzzed and mut- 
tered 
Words of anger and resentment, 
Hot and humming, like a hornet. 10 
"I will slay this Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Slay this mischief-maker ! " said he. 
" Not so long and wide the world is, 
Not so rude and rough the way is, 
That my wrath shall not attain him, 
That my vengeance shall not reach 
him!" 
Then in swift pursuit departed 
Hiawatha and the hunters 
On the trail of Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Through the forest, where he passed it, 
To the headlands where he rested ; 21 
But they found not Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Only in the trampled grasses, 
In the whortleberry-bushes, 
Found the couch where he had rested, 
Found the impress of his body. 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



'85 



From the lowlands far beneath them, 
From the Muskoday, the meadow, 
Pau-Puk-Ke'ewis, turning backward, 
Made a gesture of defiance, 3c 

Made a gesture of derision : 



Till he came unto a streamlet 
In the middle of the forest, 
To a streamlet still and tranquil, 
That had overflowed its margin, 
To a dam made by the beavers, 




1 ' Like an antelope he bounded 



And aloud cried Hiawatha, 
From the summit of the mountains : 
" Not so long and wide the world is, 
Not so rude and rough the way is, 
But my wrath shall overtake you, 
And my vengeance shall attain you! " 

Over rock and over river, 
Thorough bush, and brake, and forest, 
Ran the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis ; 40 
Like an antelope he bounded, 



To a pond of quiet water, 
Where knee-deep the trees were stand- 
ing, 
Where the water-lilies floated, 
Where the rushes waved and whis- 
pered. 50 
On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
On the dam of trunks and branches, 
Through whose chinks the water 
spouted, 



86 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



O'er whose summit flowed the stream- 
let. 
From the bottom rose the beaver, 
Looked with two great eyes of won- 
der, 
Eyes that seemed to ask a question, 
At the stranger, Pau-Puk-Keewis. 

On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
O'er his ankles flowed the streamlet, 60 
Flowed the bright and silvery water, 
And he spake unto the beaver, 
With a smile he spake in this wise : 

" O my friend Ahmeek, the beaver, 
Cool and pleasant is the water ; 
Let me dive into the water, 
Let me rest there in your lodges ; 
Change me, too, into a beaver! " 

Cautiously replied the beaver, 
With reserve he thus made answer: 70 
"Let me first consult the others, 
Let me ask the other beavers." 
Down he sank into the water, 
Heavily sank he, as a stone sinks, 
Down among the leaves and branches, 
Brown and matted at the bottom. 

On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
O'er his ankles flowed the streamlet, 
Spouted through the chinks below 

him, 
Dashed upon the stones beneath him, 
Spread serene and calm before him, 81 
And the sunshine and the shadows 
Fell in flecks and gleams upon him, 
Fell in little shining patches, 
Through the waving, rustlingbranches. 

From the bottom rose the beavers, 
Silently above the surface 
Rose one head and then another, 
Till the pond seemed full of beavers, 
Full of black and shining faces. 90 

To the beavers Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Spake entreating, said in this wise: 
"Very pleasant is your dwelling, 
O my friends ! and safe from danger ; 
Can you not, with all your cunning, 
All your wisdom and contrivance, 
Change me, too, into a beaver ? " 

' ' Yes! " replied Ahmeek, the beaver, 
He the King of all the beavers, 
' ' Let yourself slide down among us, 100 
Down into the tranquil water." 

Down into the pond among them 
Silently sank Pau-Puk-Keewis ; 
Black became his shirt of deer-skin, 
Black his moccasins and leggings, 
In a broad black tail behind him 



Spread his fox-tails and his fringes ; 
He was changed into a beaver. 

"Make me large," said Pau-Puk- 
Keewis, 
' ' Make me large and make me larger, 
Larger than the other beavers." m 
" Yes," the beaver chief responded, 
" When our lodge below you enter, 
In our wigwam we will make you 
Ten times larger than the others." 
Thus into the clear brown water 
Silently sank Pau-Puk-Keewis : 
Found the bottom covered over 
With the trunks of trees and branches, 
Hoards of food against the winter, i» 
Piles and heaps against the famine ; 
Found the lodge with arching door- 
way, 
Leading into spacious chambers. 
Here they made him large and 
larger, 
Made him largest of the beavers, 
Ten times larger than the others. 
"You shall be our ruler," said they ; 
" Chief and King of all the beavers." 
But not long had Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Sat in state among the beavers, 130 
When there came a voice of warning 
From the watchman at his station 
In the water-flags and lilies, 
Saying, ' ' Here is Hiawatha ! 
Hiawatha with his hunters ! " 

Then they heard a cry above them, 
Heard a shouting and a tramping, 
Heard a crashing and a rushing, 
And the water round and o'er them 
Sank and sucked away in eddies, 140 
And they knew their dam was broken. 

On the lodge's roof the hunters 
Leaped, and broke it all asunder ; 
Streamed the sunshine through the 

crevice, 
Sprang the beavers through the door 

way, 
Hid themselves in deeper water, 
In the channel of the streamlet ; 
But the mighty Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Could not pass beneath the doorway ; 
He was puffed with pride and feed- 
ing, . 150 
He was swollen like a bladder. 

Through the roof looked Hiawatha, 
Cried aloud, " O Pau-Puk-Keewis! 
Vain are all your craft and cunning, 
Vain your manifold disguises ! 
Well I know you, Pau-Puk-Keewis ! " 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



187 



With their clubs they beat and bruised 

him, 
Beat to death poor Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Pounded him as maize is pounded, 
Till his skull was crushed to pieces. 160 

Six tall hunters, lithe and limber, 
Bore him home on poles and branches, 
Bore the body of the beaver ; 
But the ghost, the Jeebi in him, 
Thought and felt as Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Still lived on as Pau-Puk-Keewis. 

And it fluttered, strove, and strug- 
gled, 
Waving hither, waving thither, 
As the curtains of a wigwam 
Struggle with their thongs of deer- 
skin, 170 
When the wintry wind is blowing ; 
Till it drew itself together, 
Till it rose up from the body, 
Till it took the form and features 
Of the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Vanishing into the forest. 

But the wary Hiawatha 
Saw the figure ere it vanished, 
Saw the form of Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Glide into the soft blue shadow 180 
Of the pine-trees of the forest ; 
Toward the squares of white beyond 

it, 
Toward an opening in the forest, 
Like a wind it rushed and panted, 
Bending all the boughs before it, 
And behind it. as the rain comes 
Came the steps of Hiawatha. 

To a lake with many islands 
Came the breathless Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Where among the water-lilies 190 

Pishnekuh, the brant, were sailing; 
Through the tufts of rushes floating, 
Steering through the reedy islands. 
Now their broad black beaks they 

lifted, 
Now they plunged beneath the water, 
Now they darkened in the shadow, 
Now they brightened in the sunshine. 

" Pishnekuh ! " cried Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis, 
" Pishnekuh ! my brothers ! " said he, 
"Change me to a brant with plumage, 
With a shining neck and feathers, 201 
Make me large, and make me larger, 
Ten times larger than the others." 

Straightway to a brant they changed 
him, 
With two huge and dusky pinions, 



With a bosom smooth and rounded, 
With a bill like two great paddles, 
Made him larger than the others, 
Ten times larger than the largest, 
Just as, shouting from the forest, 210 
On the shore stood Hiawatha. 

Up they rose with cry and clamor, 
With a whir and beat of pinions, 
Rose up from the reedy islands, 
From the water-flags and lilies. 
And they said to Pau-Puk-Keewis : 
" In your flying, look not downward, 
Take good heed and look not down- 
ward, 
Lest some strange mischance should 

happen, 
Lest some great mishap befall you ! " 
Fast and far they fled to northward, 
Fast and far through mist and sun- 
shine, 222 
Fed among the moors and fen-lands, 
Slept among the reeds and rushes. 

On the morrow as they journeyed. 
Buoyed and lifted by the South-wind, 
Wafted onward by the South-wind, 
Blowing fresh and strongbehind them, 
Rose a sound of human voices, 
Rose a clamor from beneath them, 230 
From the lodges of a village, 
From the people miles beneath them. 

For the people of the village 
Saw the flock of brant with wonder, 
Saw the wings of Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Flapping far up in the ether, 
Broader than two doorway curtains. 
Pau-Puk-Keewis heard the shout- 
ing, 
Knew the voice of Hiawatha, 
Knew the outcry of Iagoo, 240 

And, forgetful of the warning, 
Drew his neck in, and looked down- 
ward, 
And the wind that blew behind him 
Caught his mighty fan of feathers, 
Sent him wheeling, whirling down- 
ward ! 
All in vain did Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Struggle to regain his balance ! 
Whirling round and round and down- 
ward, 
He beheld in turn the village 
And in turn the flock above him, 250 
Saw the village coming nearer, 
And the flock receding farther, 
Heard the voices growing louder, 
Heard the shouting and the laughter ; 



i88 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Saw no more the flocks above him, 
Only saw the earth beneath him ; 
Dead out of the empty heaven, 
Dead among the shouting people, 
With a heavy sound and sullen, 
Fell the brant with broken pinions. 260 

But his soul, his ghost, his shadow, 
Still survived as Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Took again the form and features 
Of the handsome Yenadizze, 
And again went rushing onward, 
Followed fast by Hiawatha, 
Crying : " Not so wide the world is, 
Not so long and rough the way is, 
But my wrath shall overtake you, 
But my vengeance shall attain you ! " 

And so near he came, so near him, 
That his hand was stretched to seize 
him, 272 

His right hand to seize and hold him, 
When the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Whirled and spun about in Circles, 
Fanned the air into a whirlwind, 
Danced the dust and leaves about him, 
And amid the whirling eddies 
Sprang into a hollow oak-tree, 
Changed himself into a serpent, 280 
Gliding out through root and rubbish. 

With his right hand Hiawatha 
Smote amain the hollow oak-tree, 
Rent it into shreds and splinters, 
Left it lying there in fragments. 
But in vain ; for Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Once again in human figure, 
Full in sight ran on before him, 
Sped away in gust and whirlwind, 
On the shores of Gitche Gumee, 290 
Westward by the Big-Sea- Water, 
Came unto the rocky headlands, 
To the Pictured Rocks of sandstone, 
Looking over lake and landscape. 

And the Old Man of the Mountain, 
He the Manito of Mountains, 
Opened wide his rocky doorways, 
Opened wide his deep abysses, 
Giving Pau-Puk-Keewis shelter 
In his caverns dark and dreary, 300 
Bidding Pau-Puk-Keewis welcome 
To his gloomy lodge of sandstone. 

There without stood Hiawatha, 
Found the doorways closed against 

him, 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Smote great caverns in the sandstone, 
Cried aloud in tones of thunder,- 
" Open ! I am Hiawatha ! " 



But the old Man of the Mountain 
Opened not, and made no answer 310 
From the silent crags of sandstone, 
From the gloomy rock abysses. 

Then he raised his hands to heaven, 
Called imploring on the tempest, 
Called Way wassimo, the lightning 
And the thunder, Annemeekee ; 
And they came with night and dark- 
ness, 
Sweeping down the Big-Sea-Water 
From the distant Thunder Mountains; 
And the trembling Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Heard the footsteps of the thunder, 321 
Saw the red eyes of the lightning, 
Was afraid, and crouched and trem- 
bled. 

Then Waywassimo, the lightning, 
Smote the doorways of the caverns, 
With his war-club smote the door 

ways, 
Smote the jutting crags of sandstone, 
And the thunder, Annemeekee, 
Shouted down into the caverns, 
Saying, "Where is Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis!" 330 
And the crags fell, and beneath them 
Dead among the rocky ruins 
Lay the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Lay the handsome Yenadizze, 
Slain in his own human figure. 

Ended were his wild adventures, 
Ended were his tricks and gambols, 
Ended all his craft and cunning, 
Ended all his mischie'f -making, 
All his gambling and his dancing, 340 
All his wooing of the maidens. 

Then the noble Hiawatha 
Took his soul, his ghost, his shadow, 
Spake and said: " O Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis, 
Never more in human figure 
Shall you search for new adventures; 
Never more with jest and laughter 
Dance the dust and leaves in whirl- 
winds ; 
But above there in the heavens 
You shall soar and sail in circles ; 350 
I will change you to an eagle, 
To Keneu, the great war-eagle, 
Chief of all the fowls with feathers, 
Chief of Hiawatha's chickens." 

And the name of Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Lingers still among the people, 
Lingers still among the singers, 
And among the story-tellers ; 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



189 



And in Winter, when the snow-flakes 
Whirl in eddies round the lodges, 360 
When the wind in gusty tumult 
O'er the smoke-flue pipes and whistles, 
" There," they cry, "comes Pau-Puk- 

Keewis ; 
He is dancing through the village, 
He is gathering in his harvest! " 



XVIII 

THE DEATH OF KWASIND 

Far and wide among the nations 
Spread the name and fame of Kwa- 

sind ; 
No man dared to strive with Kwasind, 
No man could compete with Kwasind. 
But the mischievous Puk-Wudjies, 
They the envious Little People, 
They the fairies and the pygmies, 
Plotted and conspired against him. 

"If this hateful Kwasind," said 
they, 
" If this great, outrageous fellow 10 
Goes on thus a little longer, 
Tearing everything he touches, 
Rending everything to pieces, 
Filling all the world with wonder, 
What becomes of the Puk-Wudjies? 
Who will care for the Puk-Wudjies ? 
He will tread us down like mushrooms, 
Drive us all into the water, 
Give our bodies to be eaten 
By the wicked Nee-ba-naw-baigs, 20 
By the Spirits of the water ! " 

So the angry Little People 
All conspired against the Strong Man, 
All conspired to murder Kwasind, 
Yes, to rid the world of Kwasind, 
The audacious, overbearing, 
Heartless, haughty, dangerous Kwa- 
sind ! 

Now this wondrous strength of 
Kwasind 
In his crown alone was seated ; 29 

In his crown too was his weakness ; 
There alone could he be wounded. 
Nowhere else could weapon pierce 

him, 
Nowhere else could weapon harm him. 

Even there the only weapon 
That could wound him, that could 

slay him, 
Was the seed-cone of the pine-tree, 



Was the blue cone of the fir-tree. 
This was Kwasind's fatal secret, 
Known to no man among mortals ; 
But the cunning Little People, 40 

The Puk-Wudjies, knew the secret, 
Knew the only way to kill him. 

So they gathered cones together, 
Gathered seed -cones of the pine-tree, 
Gathered blue cones of the fir-tree, 
In the woods by Taquamenaw, 
Brought them to the river's margin, 
Heaped them in great piles together, 
Where the red rocks from the margin 
Jutting overhang the river. 50 

There they lay in wait for Kwasind, 
The malicious Little People. 

'T was an afternoon in Summer ; 
Very hot and still the air was, 
Very smooth the gliding river, 
Motionless the sleeping shadows : 
Insects glistened in the sunshine, 
Insects skated on the water, 
Filled the drowsy air with buzzing, 
With a far resounding war-cry. 60 

Down the river came the Strong 
Man, 
In his birch canoe came Kwasind, 
Floating slowly down the current 
Of the sluggish Taquamenaw, 
Very languid with the weather, 
Very sleepy with the silence. 

From the overhanging branches, 
From the tassels of the birch-trees, 
Soft the Spirit of Sleep descended ; 
By his airy hosts surrounded, 70 

His invisible attendants, 
Came the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin ; 
Like a burnished Dush-kwo-ne-she, 
Like a dragon-fly, he hovered 
O'er the drowsy head of Kwasind. 

To his ear there came a murmur 
As of waves upon a sea-shore, 
As of far-off tumbling waters, 
As of winds among the pine-trees ; 
And he felt upon his forehead 80 

Blows of little airy war-clubs, 
Wielded by the slumbrous legions 
Of the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin, 
As of some one breathing on him. 

At the first blow of their war-clubs, 
Fell a drowsiness on Kwasind ; 
At the second blow the}' smote him, 
Motionless his paddle rested ; 
At the third, before his vision 
Reeled the landscape into darkness, 90 
Very sound asleep was Kwasind. 



190 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



So he floated down the river, 
Like a blind man seated upright, 
Floated down the Taquamenaw, 
Underneath the trembling birch-trees, 
Underneath the wooded headlands, 
Underneath the war encampment 
Of the pygmies, the Puk-Wudjies. 
There they stood, all armed and 
waiting, 
Hurled the pine-cones down upon 
him, 100 

Struck him on his brawny shoulders, 
On his crown defenceless struck him, 
" Death to Kwasindl " was the sud- 
den 
War-cry of the Little People. 
And he sideways swayed and tum- 
bled, 
Sideways fell into the river, 
Plunged beneath the sluggish water 
Headlong, as an otter plunges ; 
And the birch canoe, abandoned, 
Drifted empty down the river, no 

Bottom upward swerved and drifted : 
Nothing more was seen of Kwasind. 

But the memory of the Strong Man 
Lingered long among the people, 



And whenever through the forest 
Raged and roared the wintry tempest, 
And the branches, tossed and trou- 
bled, 
Creaked and groaned and split asun- 
der, 
"Kwasind!" cried they; "that is 

Kwasind ! 
He is gathering in his fire-wood ! " 120 



XIX 

THE GHOSTS. 

Never stoops the soaring vulture 
On his quarry in the desert, 
On the sick or wounded bison, 
But another vulture, watching 
From his high aerial look-out, 
Sees the downward plunge, and fol- 
lows; 
And a third pursues the second, 
Coming from the invisible ether, 
First a speck, and then a vulture, 
Till the air is dark with pinions. 10 
So disasters come not singly ; 




Sideways fell into the river, 
Plunged beneath the sluggish water' 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



191 



But as if they watched and waited, 
Scanning one another's motions, 
When the first descends, the others* 
Follow, follow, gathering flock-wise 
Round their victim, sick and wounded, 
First a shadow, then a sorrow, 
Till the air is dark with anguish. 
, Now, o'er all the dreary North- 
land, 
Mighty Peboan, the Winter, 20 

Breathing on the lakes and rivers, 
Into stone had changed their waters. 
From his hair he shook the snow- 
flakes, 
Till the plains were strewn with white- 
ness, 
One uninterrupted level, 
As if, stooping, the Creator 
With his hand had smoothed them 
over. 
Through the forest, wide and wail- 
ing, 
Roamed the hunter on his snow-shoes ; 
In the village worked the women, 30 
Pounded maize, or dressed the deer- 
skin ; 
And the young men played together 
On the ice the noisy ball-play, 
On the plain the dance of snow-shoes. 

One dark evening, after sundown, 
In her wigwam Laughing Water 
Sat with old Nokomis, waiting 
For the steps of Hiawatha 
Homeward from the hunt returning. 
On their faces gleamed the fire- 
light, 40 
Painting them with streaks of crim- 
son, 
In the eyes of old Nokomis 
Glimmered like the watery moon- 
light, 
In the eyes of Laughing Water 
Glistened like the sun in water ; 
And behind them crouched their shad- 
ows 
In the corners of the wigwam, 
And the smoke in wreaths above them 
Climbed and crowded through the 
smoke-flue. 
Then the curtain of the doorway 50 
From without was slowly lifted ; 
Brighter glowed the fire a moment, 
And a moment swerved the smoke - 

wreath, 
As two women entered softly, 
Passed the doorway uninvited, 



Without word of salutation, 
Without sign of recognition, 
Sat down in the farthest corner, 
Crouching low among the shadows. 
From their aspect and their gar- 
ments, 60 
Strangers seemed they in the village ; 
Very pale and haggard were they, 
As they sat there sad and silent, 
Trembling, cowering with the shad- 
ows. 
Was it the wind above the smoke- 
flue, 
Muttering down into the wigwam? 
Was it the owl, the Koko-koho, 
Hooting from the dismal forest? 
Sure a voice said in the silence : 69 
' ' These are corpses clad in garments, 
These are ghosts that come to haunt 

you, 
From the kingdom of Ponemah, 
From the land of the Hereafter! " 
Homeward now came Hiawatha 
From his hunting in the forest, 
With the snow upon his tresses, 
And the red deer on his shoulders. 
At the feet of Laughing Water 
Down he threw his lifeless burden ; 79 
Nobler, handsomer she thought him, 
Than when first he come to woo her, 
First threw down the deer before her, 
As a token of his wishes, 
As a promise of the future. 
Then he turned and saw the stran- 
gers, 
Cowering, crouching with the shad- 
ows; 
Said within himself, " Who are they ? 
What strange guests has Minne- 
haha ? " 
But he questioned not the strangers, 
Only spake to bid them welcome 90 
To his lodge, his food, his fireside. 

When the evening meal was ready, 
And the deer had been divided, 
Both the pallid guests, the strangers, 
Springing from among the shadows, 
Seized upon the choicest portions, 
Seized the white fat of the roebuck, 
Set apart for Laughing Water, 
For the wife of Hiawatha ; 
Without asking, without thanking, 100 
Eagerly devoured the morsels, 
Flitted back among the shadows 
In the corner of the wigwam. 
Not a word spake Hiawatha, 



192 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Not a motion made Nokornis, 
Not a gesture Laughing Water ; 
Not a change came o'er their features; 
Only Minnehaha softly 
Whispered, saying, "They are fam- 
ished ; 109 
Let them do what best delights them ; 
Let them eat, for they are famished." 

Many a daylight dawned and dark- 
ened, 
Many a night shook off the daylight 
As the pine shakes off the snow-flakes 
From the midnight of its branches ; 
Day by day the guests unmoving 
Sat there silent in the wigwam ; 
But by night, in storm or starlight, 
Forth they went into the forest, 
Bringing Are- wood to the wigwam, 120 
Bringing pine-cones for the burning, 
Always sad and always silent. 

And whenever Hiawatha 
Came from fishing or from hunting, 
When the evening meal was ready, 
And the food had been divided, 
Gliding from their darksome corner, 
Came the pallid guests, the strangers, 
Seized upon the choicest portions 
Set aside for Laughing Water, 130 

And without rebuke or question 
Flitted back among the shadows. 

Never once had Hiawatha 
By a word or look reproved them ; 
Never once had old Nokomis 
Made a gesture of impatience ; 
Never once had Laughing Water 
Shown resentment at the outrage. 
All had they endured in silence, 139 
That the rights of guest and stranger, 
That the virtue of free-giving, 
By a look might not be lessened, 
By a wdrd might not be broken. 

Once at midnight Hiawatha, 
Ever wakeful, ever watchful, 
In the wigwam, dimly lighted 
By the brands that still were burning, 
By the glimmering, flickering fire- 
light, 
Heard a sighing, oft repeated, 
Heard a sobbing, as of sorrow. 150 

From his couch rose Hiawatha, 
From his shaggy hides of bison, 
Pushed aside the deer-skin curtain, 
Saw the pallid guests, the shadows, 
Sitting upright on their couches, 
Weeping in the silent midnight. 

And he said: " O guests ! why is it 



That your hearts are so afflicted, 
That you sob so in the midnight ? 
Has perchance the old Nokomis, 160 
Has my wife, my Minnehaha, 
Wronged or grieved you by unkind- 

ness, • 
Failed in hospitable duties?" 

Then the shadows ceased from weep 
ing, 
Ceased from sobbing and lamenting, 
And they said, with gentle voices : 
" We are ghosts of the departed, 
Souls of those who once were with 

you. 
From the realms of Chibiabos 
Hither have we come to try you, 170 
Hither have we come to warn you. 

' ' Cries of grief and lamentation 
Reach us in the Blessed Islands ; 
Cries of anguish from the living, 
Calling back their friends departed, 
Sadden us with useless sorrow. 
Therefore have we come to try you ; 
No one knows us, no one heeds us. 
We are but a burden to you, 
And we see that the departed 180 

Have no place among the living. 

" Think of this, O Hiawatha! 
Speak of it to all the people, 
That henceforward and forever 
They no more with lamentations 
Sadden the souls of the departed 
In the Islands of the Blessed. 

"Do not lay such heavy burdens 
In the graves of those you bury, 
Not such weight of furs and wampum, 
Not such weight of pots and kettles, 
For the spirits faint beneath them. 192 
Only give them food to carry, 
Only give them fire to light them. 

"Four days is the spirit's journey 
To the land of ghosts and shadows, 
Four its lonely night encampments ; 
Four times must their fires be lighted. 
Therefore, when the dead are buried, 
Let a fire, as night approaches, 2c 
Four times on the grave be kindled, 
That the soul upon its journey 
May not lack the cheerful firelight, 
May not grope about in darkness. 

"Farewell, noble Hiawatha ! 
We have put you to the trial, 
To the proof have put your patience, 
By the insult of our presence, 
By the outrage of our actions. 
We have found you great and noble. 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



J 93 



Fail not in the greater trial, 211 

Faint not in the harder struggle." 
When they ceased, a sudden dark- 
ness 
Fell and filled the silent wigwam. 
Hiawatha heard a rustle 
As of garments trailing by him, 
Heard the curtain of the doorway 
Lifted by a hand he saw not, 
Felt the cold breath of the night air, 
For a moment saw the starlight ; 220 
But he saw the ghosts no longer, 
Saw no more the wandering spirits 
From the kingdom of Ponemah, 
From the land of the Hereafter. 



XX 

THE FAMINE 

Oh the long and dreary Winter ! 
Oh the cold and cruel Winter ! 
Ever thicker, thicker, thicker 
Froze the ice on lake and river, 
Ever deeper, deeper, deeper 
Fell the snow o'er all the landscape, 
Fell the covering snow, and drifted 
Through the forest, round the village. 

Hardly from his buried wigwam 
Could the hunter force a passage ; 10 
With his mittens and his snow-shoes ' 
Vainly walked he through the forest, 
Sought for bird or beast and found 

none, 
Saw no track of deer or rabbit, 
In the snow beheld no footprints, 
In the ghastly, gleaming forest 
Fell, and could not rise from weak- 
ness, 
Perished there from cold and hunger. 

Oh the famine and the fever 1 
Oh the wasting of the famine ! 20 

Oh the blasting of the fever ! 
Oh the wailing of the children! 
Oh the anguish of the women! 

All the earth was sick and famished ; 
Hungry was the air around them, 
Hungry was the sky above them, 
And the hungry stars in heaven 
Like the eyes of wolves glared at 
them! 

Into Hiawatha's wigwam 
Came two other guests, as silent 30 
As the ghosts were, and as gloomy, 
Waited not to be invited, 



Did not parley at the doorway, 
Sat there without word of welcome 
In the seat of Laughing Water ; 
Looked with haggard eyes and hollow 
At the face of Laughing Water. 

And the foremost said: "Behold 
me! 
I am Famine, Bukadawin ! " 
And the other said : ' ' Behold me ! 40 
I am Fever, Ahkosewin ! " 

And the lovely Minnehaha 
Shuddered as they looked upon her, 
Shuddered at the words they uttered, 
Lay down on her bed in silence, 
Hid her face, but made no answer ; 
Lay there trembling, freezing, burn- 
ing 
At the looks they cast upon her, 
At the fearful words they uttered. 

Forth into the empty forest 50 

Rushed the maddened Hiawatha ; 
In his heart was deadly sorrow, 
In his face a stony firmness ; 
On his brow the sweat of anguish 
Started, but it froze and fell not. 

Wrapped in furs and armed for 
hunting, 
With his mighty bow of ash-tree, 
With his quiver full of arrows, 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Into the vast and vacant forest 60 

On his snow-shoes strode he forward. 

" Gitche Manito, the Mighty!" 
Cried he with his face uplifted 
In that bitter hour of anguish, 
" Give your children food, O father ! 
Give us food, or we must perish ! 
Give me food for Minnehaha, 
For my dying Minnehaha ! " 

Through the far-resounding forest, 
Through the forest vast and vacant 70 
Rang that cry of desolation, 
But there came no other answer 
Than the echo of his crying, 
Than the echo of the woodlands, 
' ' Minnehaha ! Minnehaha ! " 

All day long roved Hiawatha 
In that melancholy forest, 
Through the shadow of whose thick- 
ets, 
In the pleasant days of Summer, 
Of that ne'er forgotten Summer, 80 
He had brought his young wife home- 
ward 
From the land of the Dacotahs ; 
When the birds sang in the thickets, 



194 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



And the streamlets laughed and glis- 
tened, 
And the air was full of fragrance, 
And the lovely Laughing Water 
Said with voice that did not tremble, 
" I will follow you, my husband!" 

In the wigwam with Nokomis, 
With those gloomy guests that watched 
her, 90 

With the Famine and the Fever, 
She was lying, the Beloved, 
She, the dying Minnehaha. 

"Hark ! " she said ; " I hear a rush- 
ing, 
Hear a roaring and a rushing, 
Hear the Falls of Minnehaha 
Calling to me from a distance ! " 
" No, my child ! " said old Nokomis, 
"Tis the night- wind in the pine- 
trees ! " 

"Look ! " she said ; " I see my father 
Standing lonely at his doorway, 101 
Beckoning to me from his wigwam 
In the land of the Dacotahs ! " 
"No, my child !" said old Nokomis. 
" T is the smoke, that waves and beck- 
ons! " 

"Ah ! " said she, "the eyes of Pau- 
guk 
Glare upon me in the darkness, 
I can feel his icy fingers 
Clasping mine amid the darkness ! 
Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! " no 

And the desolate Hiawatha, 
Far away amid the forest, 
Miles away among the mountains, 
Heard that sudden cry of anguish, 
Heard the voice of Minnehaha 
Calling to him in the darkness, 
" Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! " 

Over snow-fields waste and path- 
less, 
Under snow-encumbered branches, 
Homeward hurried Hiawatha, 120 

Empty-handed, heavy-hearted, 
Heard Nokomis moaning, wailing : 
" Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! 
Would that I had perished for you, 
Would that I were dead as you are ! 
Wahonowin 1 Wahonowin ! " 

And he rushed into the wigwam, 
Saw the old Nokomis slowly 
Rocking to and fro and moaning, 
Saw his lovely Minnehaha 130 

Lying dead and cold before him, 
And his bursting heart within him 



Uttered such a cry of anguish, 
That the forest moaned and shud- 
dered, 
That the very stars in heaven 
Shook and trembled with his an- 
guish. 
Then he sat down, still and speech- 
less, 
On the bed of Minnehaha, 
At the feet of Laughing Water, 
At those willing feet, that never 140 
More would lightly run to meet him, 
Never more would lightly follow. 
With both hands his face he cov- 
ered, 
Seven long days and nights he sat 

there, 
As if in a swoon he sat there, 
Speechless, motionless, unconscious 
Of the daylight or the darkness. 
Then they buried Minnehaha ; 
In the snow a grave they made her, 
In the forest deep and darksome, 150 
Underneath the moaning hemlocks ; 
Clothed her in her richest garments, 
Wrapped her in her robes of ermine, 
Covered her with snow, like ermine ; 
Thus they buried Minnehaha. 

And at night a fire was lighted, 
On her grave four times was kindled, 
For her soul upon its journey 
To the Islands of the Blessed. 
From his doorway Hiawatha 160 

Saw it burning in the forest, 
Lighting up the gloomy hemlocks ; 
From his sleepless bed uprising, 
From the bed of Minnehaha, 
Stood and watched it at the door- 
way, 
That it might not be extinguished, 
Might not leave her in the dark- 
ness. 
" Farewell ! " said he, "Minnehaha! 
Farewell, O my Laughing Water! 
All my heart is buried with you, 170 
All my thoughts go onward with 

you"! 
Come not back again to suffer, 
Come not back again to labor, 
Where the Famine and the Fever 
Wear the heart and waste the body. 
Soon my task will be completed, 
Soon your footsteps I shall follow 
To the Islands of the Blessed, 
To the Kingdom of Ponemah, 
To the Land of the Hereafter ! " 180 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



r 95 



XXI 

THE WHITE MAN'S FOOT 

In his lodge beside a river, 
Close beside a frozen river, 
Sat an old man, sad and lonely. 
White his hair was as a snow-drift ; 
Dull and low his fire was burning, 
And the old man shook and trembled, 
Folded in his Waubewyon, 
In his tattered white-skin-wrapper, 
Hearing nothing but the tempest 



On his lips a smile of beauty, 
Filling all the lodge with sunshine, 
In his hand a bunch of blossoms 
Filling all the lodge with sweetness. 
"Ah, my son !" exclaimed the old 
man, % 

" Happy are my eyes to see you. 
Sit here on the mat beside me, 
Sit here by the dying embers, 
Let us pass the night together, 
Tell me of your strange adventures, 30 
Of the lands where you have trav- 
elled ; 




Ah, my son ! ' exclaimed the old man, 
Happy are my eyes to see you ' " 



As it roared along the forest, 10 

Seeing nothing but the snow-storm. 
As it whirled and hissed and drifted. 

All the coals were white with ashes, 
And the fire was slowly dying, 
As a young man, walking lightly, 
At the open doorway entered. 
Red with blood of youth his cheeks 

were, 
Soft his eyes, as stars in Spring-time, 
Bound his forehead was with grasses ; 
Bound and plumed with scented 

grasses, 2c 



I will tell you of my prowess, 
Of my many deeds of wonder." 
From his pouch he drew his peace- 
pipe, 
Very old and strangely fashioned 
Made of red stone was the pipe-head ; 
And the stem a reed with feathers ; 
Filled the pipe with bark of willow, 
Placed a burning coal upon it, 
Gave it to his guest, the stranger, 40 
And began to speak in this wise: 
"When I blow my breath about me, 
When I breathe upon the landscape, 



196 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Motionless are all the rivers, 
Hard as stone becomes the water ! " 
And the young man answered, smil- 
ing : 
" When I blow my breath about me, 
When I breathe urjon the landscape, 
Flowers spring up o'er all the mead- 
ows, 
Singing, onward rush the rivers ! " 50 

" When I shake my hoary tresses," 
Said the old man darkly frowning, 
' ' All the land with snow is covered ; 
All the leaves from all the branches 
Fall and fade and die and wither, 
For I breathe, and lo ! they are not. 
From the waters and the marshes 
Rise the wild goose and the heron, 
Fly away to distant regions, 
For I speak, and lo ! they are not. 60 
And where'er my footsteps wander, 
All the wild beasts of the forest 
Hide themselves in holes and caverns, 
And the earth becomes as flintstone ! " 

" When I shake my flowing ring- 
lets," 
Said the young man, softly laughing, 
"Showers of rain fall warm and wel- 
come, 
Plants lift up their heads rejoicing, 
Back into their lakes and marshes 
Come the wild goose and the heron, 70 
Homeward shoots the arrowy swallow, 
Sing the bluebird and the robin, 
And where'er my footsteps wander, 
All the meadows wave with blossoms, 
All the woodlands ring with music, 
All the trees are dark with foliage ! " 

While they spake, the night de- 
parted : 
From the distant realms of Wabun, 
From his shining lodge of silver, 
Like a warrior robed and painted, 80 
Came the sun, and said, "Behold me, 
Gheezis, the great sun, behold me ! " 

Then the old man's tongue was 
speechless 
And the air grew warm and pleasant, 
And upon the wigwam sweetly 
Sang the bluebird and the robin, 
And the stream began to murmur, 
And a scent of growing grasses 
Through the lodge was gently wafted. 

And Segwun, the youthful stranger, 
More distinctly in the daylight 91 

Saw the icy face before him ; 
It was Peboan, the Winter! 



From his eyes the tears were flow- 
ing, 
As from melting lakes the streamlets, 
And his body shrunk and dwindled 
As the shouting sun ascended, 
Till into the air it faded, 
Till into the ground it vanished, 99 
And the young man saw before him, 
On the hearth-stone of the wigwam, 
Where the fire had smoked and smoul- 
dered, 
Saw the earliest flower of Spring-time, 
Saw the Beauty of the Spring-time, 
Saw the Miskodeed in blossom. 

Thus it was that in the North-land 
After that unheard-of coldness, 
That intolerable Winter, 
Came the Spring with all its splendor. 
All its birds and all its blossoms, no 
All its flowers and leaves and grasses. 

Sailing on the wind to northward, 
Flying in great flocks, like arrows, 
Like huge arrows shot through hea- 
ven, 
Passed the swan, the Mahnahbezee, 
Speaking almost as a man speaks ; 
And in long lines waving, bending 
Like a bow-string snapped asunder, 
Came the white goose, Waw-be-wawa ; 
And in pairs, or singly flying, 120 

Mahng the loon, with clangorous pin- 
ions, 
The blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
And the grouse, the Mushkodasa. 

In the thickets and the meadows 
Piped the bluebird, the Owaissa, 
On the summit of the lodges 
Sang the robin, the Opechee, 
In the covert of the pine-trees 
Cooed the pigeon, the Omemee ; 
And the sorrowing Hiawatha, 130 

Speechless in his infinite sorrow, 
Heard their voices calling to him, 
Went forth from his gloomy doorway, 
Stood and gazed into the heaven, 
Gazed upon the earth and waters. 

From his wanderings far to east- 
ward, 
From the regions of the morning, 
From the shining land of Wabun, 
Homeward now returned Iagoo, 139 
The great traveller, the great boaster, 
Full of new and strange adventures, 
Marvels many and many wonders. 

And the people of the village 
Listened to him as he told them 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



[97 



Of his marvellous adventures, 
Laughing answered him in this wise : 
"Ugh! it is indeed Iagoo! 
No one else beholds such wonders ! " 

He had seen, he said,' a water 
Bigger than the Big-Sea-Water, 150 
Broader than the Gitche Gumee, 
Bitter so that none could drink it ! 
At each other looked the warriors, 
Looked the women at each other, 
Smiled, and said, " It cannot be so ! 
Kaw ! " they said, "it cannot be so ! " 

O'er it, said he, o'er this water 
Came a great canoe with pinions, 
A canoe with wings came flying, 
Bigger than a grove of pine-trees, 160 
Taller than the tallest tree-tops ! 
And the old men and the women 
Looked and tittered at each other ; 
• • Kaw ! " they said, ' ' we don't believe 
it ! " 

From its mouth, he said, to greet 
him, 
Came Waywassimo, the lightning, 
Came the thunder, Annemeekee ! 
And the warriors and the women 
Laughed aloud at poor Iagoo ; 
" Kaw ! " they said, "what tales you 
tell us ! " 170 

In it, said he, came a people, 
In the great canoe with pinions 
Came, he said, a hundred warriors ; 
Painted white were all their faces 
And with hair their chins were cov- 
ered ! 
And the warriors and the women 
Laughed and shouted in derision, 
Like the ravens on the tree-tops, 
Like the crows upon the hemlocks. 
' ' Kaw ! " they said, ' ' what lies you 
tell us ! 180 

Do not think that we believe them ! " 

Only Hiawatha laughed not, 
But he gravely spake and answered 
To their jeering and their jesting : 
" True is all Iagoo tells us ; 
I have seen it in a vision, 
Seen the great canoe with pinions, 
Seen the people with white faces, 
Seen the coming of this bearded 
People of the wooden vessel 190 

From the regions of the morning, 
From the shining land of Wabun. 

"Gitche Manito, the Mighty, 
The Great Spirit, the Creator/ 
Sends them hither on his errand. 



Sends them to us with his message. 
Wheresoe'er they move, before them 
Swarms the stinging fly, the Ahmo, 
Swarms the bee, the honey-maker; 199 
Wheresoe'er they tread, beneath them 
Springs a flower unknown among us, 
Springs the White-man's Foot in 
blossom. 
"Let us welcome, then, the stran- 
gers, 
Hail them as our friends and brothers, 
And the heart's right hand of friend- 
ship 
Give them when they come to see us. 
Gitche Manito, the Mighty, 
Said this to me in my vision. 

"I beheld, too, in that vision 
All the secrets of the future, 210 

Of the distant days that shall be. 
I beheld the westward marches 
Of the unknown, crowded nations. 
All the land was full of people, 
Restless, struggling, toiling, striving, 
Speaking many tongues, yet feeling 
But one heart-beat in their bosoms. 
In the woodlands rang their axes, 
Smoked their towns in all the valleys, 
Over all the lakes and* rivers 220 

Rushed their great canoes of thunder. 

" Then a darker, drearier vision 
Passed before me, vague and cloud- 
like; 
I beheld our nation scattered, 
All forgetful of my counsels, 
Weakened, warring with each other : 
Saw the remnants of our people 
Sweeping westward, wild and wof ul, 
Like the cloud-rack of a tempest, 
Like the withered leaves of Au- 
tumn ! " 230 



XXII 

HIAWATHA'S DEPARTURE 

By the shore of Gitche Gumee, 
By the shining Big-Sea-Water, 
At the doorway of his wigwam, 
In the pleasant Summer morning, 
Hiawatha stood and waited. 
All the air was full of freshness, 
All the earth was bright and joyous, 
And before him, through the sun- 
shine, 
Westward toward the neighboring 
forest 



198 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Passed in golden swarms the Ahmo, 10 
Passed the bees, the honey-makers, 
Burning, singing in the sunshine. 

Bright above him shone the hea- 
vens, 
Level spread the lake before him ; 
From its bosom leaped the sturgeon, 
Sparkling, flashing in the sunshine ; 
On its margin the great forest 
Stood reflected in the water, 
Every tree-top had its shadow, 
Motionless beneath the water. 20 

From the brow of Hiawatha 
Gone was every trace of sorrow, 
As the fog from off the water, 
As the mist from off the meadow. 
With a smile of joy and triumph, 
With a look of exultation, 
As of one who in a vision 
Sees what is to be, but is not, 
Stood and waited Hiawatha. 

Toward the sun his hands were 
lifted, 30 

Both the palms spread out against it, 
And between the parted fingers 
Fell the sunshine on his features, 
Flecked with light his naked shoul- 
ders, 
As it falls and flecks an oak-tree 
Through the rifted leaves and 
branches. 

O'er the water floating, flying, 
Something in the hazy distance, 
Something in the mists of morning, 
Loomed and lifted from the water, 40 
Now seemed floating, now seemed 

flying, 
Coming nearer, nearer, nearer. 

Was it Shingebis the diver ? 
Or the pelican, the Shada ? 
Or the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah? 
Or the white goose, Waw-be-wawa, 
With the water dripping, flashing, 
From its glossy neck and feathers ? 

It was neither goose nor diver, 
Neither pelican nor heron, 50 

O'er the water floating, flying, 
Through the shining mist of morning, 
But a birch canoe with paddles, 
Rising, sinking on the water, 
Dripping, flashing in the sunshine ; 
And within it came a people 
From the distant land of Wabun, 
From the farthest realms of morning 
Came the Black-Robe chief, the Pro- 
phet, 



He the Priest of Prayer, the Pale- 
face, 60 
With his guides and his companions. 

And the noble Hiawatha, 
With his hands aloft extended, 
Held aloft in sign of welcome, 
Waited, full of exultation, 
Till the birch canoe with paddles 
Grated on the shining pebbles, 
Stranded on the sandy margin, 
Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale- 
face, 
With the cross upon his bosom, 70 

Landed on the sandy margin. 

Then the joyous Hiawatha 
Cried aloud and spake in this wise : 
" Beautiful is the sun, O strangers, 
When you come so far to see us ! 
All our town in peace awaits you, 
All our doors stand open for you ; 
You shall enter all our wigwams, 
For the heart's right hand we give 
you. 79 

" Never bloomed the earth so gayly 
Never shone the sun so brightly, 
As to-day they shine and blossom 
When you come so far to see us ! 
Never was our lake so tranquil, 
Nor so free from rocks and sand-bars ; 
For your birch canoe in passing 
Has removed both rock and sand-bar. 

"Never before had our tobacco 
Such a sweet and pleasant flavor, 
Never the broad leaves of our corn- 
fields 9c 
Were so beautiful to look on, 
As they seem to us this morning, 
When you come so far to see us ! " 

And the Black-Robe chief made an- 
swer 
Stammered in his speech a little, 
Speaking words yet unfamiliar : 
" Peace be with you, Hiawatha, 
Peace be with you and your people, 
Peace of prayer, and peace of pardon, 
Peace of Christ, and joy of Mary ! " 100 

Then the generous Hiawatha 
Led the strangers to his wigwam, 
Seated them on skins of bison, 
Seated them on skins of ermine, 
And the careful old Nokomis 
Brought them food in bowls of bass- 
wood, 
Water brought in birchen dippers, 
And the calumet, the peace-pipe, 
Filled and lighted for their smoking. 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



199 



All the old men of the village, n 
All the warriors of the nation, 
All the Jossakeeds, the Prophets, 
The magicians, the Wabenos, 
And the Medicine-men, the Medas, 
Came to bid the strangers welcome ; 
" It is well," they said, " O brothers, 
That vou come so far to see us ! " 



And her blessed Son, the Saviour, 
How in distant lands and ages 
He had lived on earth as we do ; 
How he fasted, prayed, and labored ; 
How the Jews, the tribe accursed, 
Mocked him, scourged him, crucified 

him ; 
How he rose from where they laid him. 




Came the Black-Robe chief, .... the Pale-face, 
With his guides and his companions " 



In a circle round the doorway, 
With their pipes they sat in silence, 
Waiting to behold the strangers, 120 
Waiting to receive their message ; 
Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale- 
face, 
From the wigwam came to greet 

them, 
Stammering in his speech a little, 
Speaking words yet unfamiliar ; 
"It is well," they said, " O brother, 
That you come so far to see us ! " 

Then the Black-Robe chief, the 
Prophet, 
Told his message to the people. 
Told the purport of his mission, 130 
Told them of the Virgin Mary, 



Walked again with his disciples, 
And ascended into heaven. 140 

And the chiefs made answer, say- 
ing: 
' ' We have listened to your message, 
We have heard your words of wis- 
dom, 
We will think on what you tell us. 
It is well for us, O brothers, 
That you come so far to see us ! " 

Then they rose up and departed 
Each one homeward to his wigwam, 
To the young men and the women 
Told the story of the strangers 150 
Whom the Master of Life had sent 

them 
From the shining land of Wabun. 



200 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Heavy with the heat and silence 
Grew the afternoon of Summer ; 
With a drowsy sound the forest 
Whispered round the sultry wigwam, 
With a sound of sleep the water 
Rippled on the beach below it ; 
From the cornfields shrill and cease- 
less 
Sang the grasshopper, Pah-puk- 
keena ; 160 

And the guests of Hiawatha, 
Weary with the heat of Summer, 
Slumbered in the sultry wigwam. 
Slowly o'er the simmering land- 
scape 
Fell the evening's dusk and coolness, 
And the long and level sunbeams 
Shot their spears into the forest, 
Breaking through its shields of shad- 
ow, 
Rushed into each secret ambush, 169 
Searched each thicket, dingle, hollow ; 
Still the guests of Hiawatha 
Slumbered in the silent wigwam. 
From his place rose Hiawatha, 
Bade farewell to old Nokomis, 
Spake in whispers, spake in this wise, 
Did not wake the guests, that slum- 
bered. 
"I am going, O Nokouris, 
On along and distant journey, 
To the portals of the Sunset, 
To the regions of the home-wind, 180 
Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin. 
But these guests I leave behind me, 
In your watch and ward Heave them ; 
See that never harm comes near them, 
See that never fear molests them, 
Never danger nor suspicion, 
Never want of food or shelter, 
In the lodge of Hiawatha! " 

Forth into the village went he, 
Bade farewell to all the warriors, 190 
Bade farewell to all the young men, 
Spake persuading, spake in this wise : 

"lam going, O my people, 
On a long and distant journey ; 
Many moons and many winters 
Will have come, and will have van- 
ished, 
Ere I come again to see you. 
But my guests I leave behind me ; 



Listen to their words of wisdom, 
Listen to the truth they tell you, 200 
For the Master of Life has sent them 
From the land of light and morning! " 

On the shore stood Hiawatha, 
Turned and waved his hand at part- 
ing; 
On the clear and luminous water 
Launched his birch canoe for sailing, 
From the pebbles of the margin 
Shoved it forth into the water ; 
Whispered to it, "Westward! west- 
ward ! " 
And with speed it darted forward. 210 

And the evening sun descending 
Set the clouds on fire with redness, 
Burned the broad sky, like a prairie, 
Left upon the level water 
One long track and trail of splendor, 
Down whose stream, as down a river, 
Westward, westward Hiawatha 
Sailed into the fiery sunset, 
Sailed into the purple vapors, 
Sailed into the dusk of evening. 220 

And the people from the margin 
Watched him floating, rising, sinking, 
Till the birch canoe seemed lifted 
High into that sea of splendor, 
Till it sank into the vapors 
Like the new moon slowly, slowly 
Sinking in the purple distance. 

And they said, ' ' Farewell forever ! " 
Said, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!" 
And the forests, dark and lonely, 230 
Moved through all their depths of 

darkness, 
Sighed, " Farewell, O Hiawatha ! " 
And the waves upon the margin 
Rising, rippling on the pebbles, 
Sobbed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!" 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
From her haunts among the fen-lands, 
Screamed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!" 

Thus departed Hiawatha, 
Hiawatha the Beloved, 240 

In the glory of the sunset, 
In the purple mists of evening, 
To the regions of the home-wind, 
Of the Northwest -Wind, Keewaydin, 
To the Islands of the Blessed, 
To the Kingdom of Ponemah, 
To the Land of the Hereafter 1 




Priacilla, the loveliest maiden of Plymouth 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 



MILES STANDISH 



In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims, 

To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling, 

Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather, 

Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain. 

Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing 

Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare, 

Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, — 

Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus, 

Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence, 

While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock. i<? 

Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic, 

Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron ; 



( 



202 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already 
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November. 
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion, 
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window ; 
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion, 
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives 
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, " Not Angles, but Angels." 
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower. 20 

Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting, 
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth. 
"Look at these arms," he said, " the warlike weapons that hang here 
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection! 
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate, 
Well I remember the day ! once saved my life in a skirmish ; 
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet 
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero. 
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish . 
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses." 30 
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing: 
" Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet ; 
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon ! " 
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling : 
" See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging; 
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others. 
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage ; 
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn. 
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army, 
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock, 40 

Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage, 
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers ! " 
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams 
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment. 
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued : 
" Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted 
High on the roof of the church, a preacher who speaks to the purpose, 
Steady, straightforward, and strong, with irresistible logic, 
Orthodox, flashing conviction right into the hearts of the heathen. 
Now we are ready, I think, for any assault of the Indians ; 50 

Let them come, if they like, and the sooner they try it the better, — 
Let them come, if they like, be it sagamore, sachem, or pow-wow, 
Aspinet, Samoset, Corbitant, Squanto, or Tokamahamon ! " 

Long at the window he stood, and wistfully gazed on the landscape, 
Washed with a cold gray mist, the vapory breath of the east-wind, 
Forest and meadow and hill, and the steel-blue rim of the ocean, 
Lying silent and sad, in the afternoon shadows and sunshine. 
Over his countenance flitted a shadow like those on the landscape, 
Gloom intermingled with light ; and his voice was subdued with emotion, 
Tenderness, pity, regret, as after a pause he proceeded : 60 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 203 

" Yonder there, on the hill by the sea, lies buried Rose Standish ; 

Beautiful rose of love, that bloomed for me by the wayside! 

She was the first to die of all who came in the Mayflower ! 

Green above her is growing the field of wheat we have sown there, 

Better to hide from the Indian scouts the graves of our people, 

Lest they should count them and see how many already have perished ! " 

Sadly his face he averted, and strode up and down, and was thoughtful. 

Fixed to the opposite wall was a shelf of books, and among them 
Prominent three, distinguished alike for bulk and for binding; 
Bariffe's Artillery Guide, and the Commentaries of Caesar 70 

Out of the Latin translated by Arthur Goldinge of London, 
And, as if guarded by these, between them was standing the Bible. 
Musing a moment before them, Miles Standish paused, as if doubtful 
Which of the three he should choose for his consolation and comfort, 
Whether the wars of the Hebrews, the famous campaigns of the Romans, 
Or the Artillery practice, designed for belligerent Christians. 
Finally down from its shelf he dragged the ponderous Roman, 
Seated himself at the window, and opened the book, and in silence 
Turned o'er the well-worn leaves, where thumb-marks thick on the margin, 
Like the trample of feet, proclaimed the battle was hottest. 80 

Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling, 
Busily writing epistles important, to go by the Mayflower, 
Ready to sail on the morrow, or next day at latest, God willing ! 
Homeward bound with the tidings of all that terrible winter, 
Letters written by Alden, and full of the name of Priscilla ! 
Full of the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden Priscilla ! 



II 

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP 

Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling, 

Or an occasional sigh from the laboring heart of the Captain, 

Reading the marvellous words and achievements of Julius Caesar. 

After a while he exclaimed, as he smote with his hand, palm downwards, 90 

Heavily on the page : " A wonderful man was this Caesar! 

You are a writer, and I am a fighter, but here is a fellow 

Who could both write and fight, and in both was equally skilful ! " 

Straightway answered and spake John Alden, the comely, the youthful : 

11 Yes, he was equally skilled, as you say, with his pen and his weapons. 

Somewhere have I read, but where I forget, he could dictate 

Seven letters at once, at the same time writing his memoirs." 

"Truly," continued the Captain, not heeding or hearing the other, 

' ' Truly a wonderful man was Caius Julius Caesar ! 

Better be first, he said, in a little Iberian village, 100 

Than be second in Rome, and I think he was right when he said it. 

Twice was he married before he was twenty, and many times after ; 

Battles five hundred he fought, and a thousand cities he conquered ; 

He, too, fought in Flanders, as he himself has recorded ; 



C: 



204 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

Finally he was stabbed by his friend, the orator Brutus ! 

Now, do you know what he did on a certain occasion in Flanders, 

When the rear-guard of his army retreated, the front giving way too, 

And the immortal Twelfth Legion was crowded so closely together 

There was no room for their swords ? Why, he seized a shield from a soldier, 

Put himself straight at the head of his troops, and commanded the captains, ne 

Calling on each by his name, to order forward the ensigns ; 

Then to widen the ranks, and give more room for their weapons ; 

So he won the day, the battle of something-or-other. 

That 's what I always say ; if you wish a thing to be well done, 

You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others ! " 

All was silent again ; the Captain continued his reading. 
Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling 
Writing epistles important to go next day by the Mayflower, 
Filled with the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden Priscilla ; 
Every sentence began or closed with the name of Priscilla, 120 

Till the treacherous pen, to which he confided the secret, 
Strove to betray it by singing and shouting the name of Priscilla ! 
Finally closing his book, with a bang of the ponderous cover, 
Sudden and loud as the sound of a soldier grounding his musket, 
Thus to the young man spake Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth : 
" When you have finished your work, I have something important to tell you. 
Be not however in haste ; I can wait ; I shall not be impatient! " 
Straightway Alden replied, as he folded the last of his letters, 
Pushing his papers aside, and giving respectful attention : 
" Speak ; for whenever you speak, I am always ready to listen, 130 

Always ready to hear whatever pertains to Miles Standish." 
Thereupon answered the Captain, embarrassed, and culling his phrases : 
"Tis not good for a man to be alone, say the Scriptures. 
This I have said before, and again and again I repeat it ; 
Every hour in the day, I think it, and feel it, and say it. 
Since Rose Standish died, my life has been weary and dreary ; 
Sick at heart have I been, beyond the healing of friendship ; 
Oft in my lonely hours have I thought of the maiden Priscilla. 
She is alone in the world ; her father and mother and brother 
Died in the winter together ; I saw her going and coming, 140 

Now to the grave of the dead, and now to the bed of the dying, 
Patient, courageous, and strong, and said to myself, that if ever 
There were angels on earth, as there are angels in heaven, 
Two have I seen and knowm ; and the angel whose name is Priscilla 
Holds in my desolate life the place which the other abandoned. 
Long have I cherished the thought, but never have dared to reveal it, 
Being a coward in this, though valiant enough for the most part. 
Go to the damsel Priscilla, the loveliest maiden of Plymouth, 
Say that a blunt old Captain, a man not of words but of actions, 
Offers his hand and his heart, the hand and heart of a soldier. 150 

Not in these words, you know, but this in short is my meaning; 
I am a maker of war, and not a maker of phrases. 
You, who are bred as a scholar, can say it in elegant language, 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 205 

Such as you read in your books of the pleadings and wooings of lovers, 
Such as you think best adapted to win the heart of a maiden." 

When he had spoken, John Alden, the fair-haired, taciturn stripling, 
All aghast at his words, surprised, embarrassed, bewildered, 
Trying to mask his dismay by treating the subject with lightness, 
Trying to smile, and yet feeling his heart stand still in his bosom, 
Just as a timepiece stops in a house that is stricken by lightning, 160 

Thus made answer and spake, or rather stammered than answered : 
" Such a message as that, I am sure I should mangle and mar it ; 
If you would have it well done, — I am only repeating your maxim, — 
You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others ! " 
But with the air of a man whom nothing can turn from his purpose, 
Gravely shaking his head, made answer the Captain of Plymouth: 
" Truly the maxim is good, and I do not mean to gainsay it; 
But we must use it discreetly, and not waste powder for nothing. 
Now, as I said before, I was never a maker of phrases. 

I can march up to a fortress and summon the place to surrender, 170 

But march up to a woman with such a proposal, I dare not. 
I 'm not afraid of bullets, nor shot from the mouth of a cannon, 
But of a thundering ' No ! ' point-blank from the mouth of a woman, 
That I confess I 'm afraid of, nor am I ashamed to confess it ! 
So you must grant my request, for you are an elegant scholar, 
Having the graces of speech, and skill in the turning of phrases." 
Taking the hand of his friend, who still was reluctant and doubtful, 
Holding it long in his own, and pressing it kindly, he added : 
" Though I have spoken thus lightly, yet deep is the feeling that prompts me ; 
Surely you cannot refuse what I ask in the name of our friendship ! " 180 

Then made answer John Alden : "The name of friendship is sacred ; 
What you demand in that name, I have not the power to deny you ! " 
So the strong will prevailed, subduing and moulding the gentler, 
Friendship prevailed over love, and Alden went on his errand. 

Ill 

THE LOVER'S ERRAND 

So the strong will prevailed, and Alden went on his errand, 

Out of the street of the village, and into the paths of the forest, 

Into the tranquil woods, where bluebirds and robins were building 

Towns in the populous trees, with hanging gardens of verdure, 

Peaceful, aerial cities of joy and affection and freedom. 

All around him was calm, but within him commotion and conflict, 190 

Love contending with friendship, and self with each generous impulse. 

To and fro in his breast his thoughts were heaving and dashing, 

As in a foundering ship, with every roll of the vessel, 

Washes the bitter sea, the merciless surge of the ocean! 

" Must I relinquish it all," he cried with a wild lamentation, — 

"Must I relinquish it all, the joy, the hope, the illusion ? 

Was U for this I have loved, and waited, and worshipped in silence ? 



2o6 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

Was it for this I have followed the flying feet and the shadow 

Over the wintry sea, to the desolate shores of New England ? 

Truly the heart is deceitful, and out of its depths of corruption 20& 

Rise, like an exhalation, the misty phantoms of passion ; 

Angels of light they seem, but are only delusions of Satan. 

All is clear to me now ; I feel it, I see it distinctly ! 

This is the hand of the Lord ; it is laid upon me in anger, 

For I have followed too much the heart's desires and devices, 

Worshipping Astaroth blindly, and impious idols of Baal. 

This is the cross I must bear; the sin and the swift retribution." 

So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went on his errand ; 
Crossing the brook at the ford, where it brawled over pebble and shallow, 
Gathering still, as he went, the May-flowers blooming around him, 210 

Fragrant, filling the air with a strange and wonderful sweetness, 
Children lost in the woods, and covered with leaves in their slumber. 
''Puritan flowers," he said, " and the type of Puritan maidens, 
Modest and simple and sweet, the very type of Priscilla ! 
So I will take them to her ; to Priscilla the Mayflower of Plymouth, 
Modest and simple and sweet, as a parting gift will I take them ; 
Breathing their silent farewells, as they fade and wither and perish, 
Soon to be thrown away as is the heart of the giver." 
So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went on his errand ; 
Came to an open space, and saw the disk of the ocean, 220 

Sailless, sombre and cold with the comfortless breath of the east-wind ; 
Saw the new-built house, and people at work in a meadow; 
Heard, as he drew near the door, the musical voice of Priscilla 
Singing the hundredth Psalm, the grand old Puritan anthem, 
Music that Luther sang to the sacred words of the Psalmist, 
Full of the breath of the Lord, consoling and comforting many. 
Then, as he opened the door, he beheld the form of the maiden 
Seated beside her wheel, and the carded wool like a snow-drift 
Piled at her knee, her white hands feeding the ravenous spindle, 
While with her foot on the treadle she guided the wheel in its motion 230 

Open wide on her lap lay the well-worn psalm-book of Ainsworth, 
Printed in Amsterdam, the words and the music together, 
Rough-hewn, angular notes, like stones in the wall of a churchyard, 
Darkened and overhung by the running vine of the verses. 
Such was the book from whose pages she sang the old Puritan anthem, 
She, the Puritan girl, in the solitude of the forest, 
Making the humble house and the modest apparel of homespun 
Beautiful with her beauty, and rich with the wealth of her being ! 
Over him rushed, like a wind that is. keen and cold and relentless, 
Thoughts of what might have been, and the weight and woe of his errand ; 240 
All the dreams that had faded, and all the hopes that had vanished, 
All his life henceforth a dreary and tenantless mansion, 
Haunted by vain regrets, and pallid, sorrowful faces. 
Still he said to himself, and almost fiercely he said it, 
11 Let not him that putteth his hand to the plough look backwards; 
Though the ploughshare cut through the flowers of life to its fountains, 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 207 

Though it pass o'er the graves of the dead and the hearths of the living, 
It is the will of the Lord ; and his mercy endureth forever ! " 

So he entered the house : and the hum of the wheel and the singing 
Suddenly ceased ; for Priscilla, aroused by his step on the threshold, 250 

Rose as he entered, and gave him her hand, in signal of welcome, 
Saying, " I knew it was you, when I heard your step in the passage ; 
For I was thinking of you, as I sat there singing and spinning." 
Awkward and dumb with delight, that a thought of him had been mingled 
Thus in the sacred psalm, that came from the heart of the maiden, 
Silent before her he stood, and gave her the flowers for an answer, 
Finding no words for his thought. He remembered that day in the winter, 
After the first great snow, when he broke a path from the village, 
Reeling and plunging along through the drifts that encumbered the doorway, 
Stamping the snow from his feet as he entered the house, and Priscilla 260 

Laughed at his snowy locks, and gave him a seat by the fireside, 
Grateful and pleased to know he had thought of her in the snow-storm. 
Had he but spoken then ! perhaps not in vain had he spoken ; 
Now it was all too late ; the golden moment had vanished ! 
So he stood there abashed, and gave her the flowers for an answer. 

Then they sat down and talked of the birds and the beautiful Spring-time, 
Talked of their friends at home, and the Mayflower that sailed on the morrow. 
" I have been thinking all day," said gently the Puritan maiden, 
" Dreaming all night, and thinking all day, of the hedge-rows of England, 
They are in blossom now, and the country is all like a garden : 270 

Thinking of lanes and fields, and the song of the lark and the linnet, 
Seeing the village street, and familiar faces of neighbors 
Going about as of old, and stopping to gossip together, 
And, at the end of the street, the village church, with the ivy 
Climbing the old gray tower, and the quiet graves in the churchyard. 
Kind are the people I live with, and dear to me my religion ; 
Still my heart is so sad, that I wish myself back in Old England. 
You will say it is wrong, but I cannot help it: I almost , 

Wish myself back in Old England, I feel so lonely and wretched." 

Thereupon answered the youth : "Indeed I do not condemn you ; 280 

Stouter hearts than a woman's have quailed in this terrible winter. 
Yours is tender and trusting, and needs a stronger to lean on ; 
So I have come to you now, with an offer and proffer of marriage 
Made by a good man and true, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth ! " 

Thus he delivered his message, the dexterous writer of letters, — 
Did not embellish the theme, nor array it in beautiful phrases, 
But came straight to the point, and blurted it out like a school-boy ; 
Even the Captain himself could hardly have said it more bluntly. 
Mute with amazement and sorrow, Priscilla the Puritan maiden 
Looked into Alden's face, her eyes dilated with wonder, 290 

Feeling his words like a blow, that stunned her and rendered her speechless ; 
Till at length she exclaimed, interrupting the ominous silence: 



208 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 



" If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me, 

Why does he not come himself, and take the trouble to woo me ? 

If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning! " 

Then John Alden began explaining and smoothing the matter, 

Making it worse as he went, by saying the Captain was busy, — 

Had no time for such things — such things ! the words grating harshly 

Fell on the ear of Priscilla ; and swift as a flash she made answer : 

" Has he no time for such things, as you call it, before he is married, 

Would he be likely to find it, or make it, after the wedding ? \ 

That is the way with you men ; you don't understand us, you cannot. 

When you have made up your minds, after thinking of this one and that one 

Choosing, selecting, rejecting, comparing one with another, 

Then you make known your desire, with abrupt and sudden avowal, ; / 

And are offended and hurt, and indignant perhaps, that a woman 

Does not respond at once to a love that she never suspected, 




Why does he not come himself, and take the trouble to woo me 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 209 

Does not attain at a bound the height to which you have been climbing. 

This is not right nor just: for surely a woman's affection 

Is not a thing to be asked for, and had for only the asking. 310 

When one is truly in love, one not only says it, but shows it. 

Had he but waited awhile, had he only showed that he loved me, 

Even this Captain of yours — who knows ? — at last might have won me, 

Old and rough as he is; but now it never can happen." 

Still John Alden went on, unheeding the words of Priscilla, 
Urging the suit of his friend, explaining, persuading, expanding ; 
Spoke of his courage and skill, and of all his battles in Flanders, 
How with the people of God he had chosen to suffer affliction ; 
How, in return for his zeal, they had made him Captain of Plymouth ; 
He was a gentleman born, could trace his pedigree plainly 320 

Back to Hugh Standish of Duxbury Hall, in Lancashire, England, 
Who was the son of Ralph, and the grandson of Thurston de Standish ; 
Heir unto vast estates, of which he was basely defrauded. 
Still bore the family arms, and had for his crest a cock argent, 
Combed and wattled gules, and all the rest of the blazon. 
He was a man of honor, of noble and generous nature; 
Though he was rough, he was kindly ; she knew how during the winter 
He had attended the sick, with a hand as gentle as woman's ; 
Somewhat hasty and hot, he could not deny it, and headstrong, 
Stern as a soldier might be, but hearty, and placable always, 330 

Not to be laughed at and scorned, because he was little of stature ; 
For he was great of heart, magnanimous, courtly, courageous ; 
Any woman in Plymouth, nay, any woman in England, 
Might be happy and proud to be called the wife of Miles Standish ! 

But as he warmed and glowed, in his simple and eloquent language, 
Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of his rival, 
Archly the maiden smiled, and, with eyes overrunning with laughter. 
Said, in a tremulous voice, ' ' Why don't you speak for yourself, John ? " 

rv 

JOHN ALDEN 

Into the open air John Alden, perplexed and bewildered, 

Rushed like a man insane, and wandered alone by the sea-side ; 340 

Paced up and down the sands, and bared his head to the east-wind, 

Cooling his heated brow, and the fire and fever within him. 

Slowly as out of the heavens, with apocalyptical splendors, 

Sank the City of God, in the vision of John the Apostle, 

So, with its cloudy walls of chrysolite, jasper, and sapphire, 

Sank the broad red sun, and over its turrets uplifted 

Glimmered the golden reed of the angel who measured the city. 

" Welcome, O wind of the East ! " he exclaimed in his wild exultation, 
" Welcome, O wind of the East, from the caves of the misty Atlantic ! 
Blowing o'er fields of dulse, and measureless meadows of sea-grass, 35*7 



c- 



210 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

Blowing o'er rocky wastes, and the grottoes and gardens of ocean I 
Lay thy cold, moist hand on my burning forehead, and wrap me 
Close in thy garments of mist, to allay the fever within me ! " 

Like an awakened conscience, the sea was moaning and tossing, 
Beating remorseful and loud the mutable sands of the sea-shore. 
Fierce in his soul was the struggle and tumult of passions contending; 
Love triumphant and crowned, and friendship wounded and bleeding, 
Passionate cries of desire, and importunate pleadings of duty ! 
" Is it my fault," he said, " that the maiden has chosen between us ? 
Is it my fault that he failed, — my fault that I am the victor ? " 3 6c 

Then within him there thundered a voice, like the voice of the Prophet: 
"It hath displeased the Lord ! " — and he thought of David's transgression, 
Bathsheba's beautiful face, and his friend in the front of the battle! 
Shame and confusion of guilt, and abasement and self-condemnation, 
Overwhelmed him at once; and he cried in the deepest contrition : 
" It hath displeased the Lord! It is the temptation of Satan! " 

Then, uplifting his head, he looked at the sea, and beheld there 
Dimly the shadowy form of the Mayflower riding at anchor, 
Rocked on the rising tide, and ready to sail on the morrow ; 
Heard the voices of men through the mist, the rattle of cordage 370 

Thrown on the deck, the shouts of the mate, and the sailors' " Ay, ay, Sir!" 
Clear and distinct, but not loud, in the dripping air of the twilight. 
Still for a moment he stood, and listened, and stared at the vessel, 
Then went hurriedly on, as one who, seeing a phantom, 
Stops, then quickens his pace, and follows the beckoning shadow. 
"Yes, it is plain to me now," he murmured ; " the hand of the Lord is 
Leading me out of the land of darkness, the bondage of error, 
Through the sea, that shall lift the walls of its waters around me, 
Hiding me, cutting me off, from the cruel thoughts that pursue me. 
Back will I go o'er the ocean, this dreary land will abandon, 380 

Her whom I may not love, and him whom my heart has offended. 
Better to be in my grave in the green old churchyard in England, 
Close by my mother's side, and among the dust of my kindred; 
Better be dead and forgotten, than living in shame and dishonor ; 
Sacred and safe and unseen, in the dark of the narrow chamber 
With me my secret shall lie, like a buried jewel that glimmers 
Bright on the hand that is dust, in the chambers of silence and darkness, — 
Yes, as the marriage ring of the great espousal hereafter!" 

Thus, as he spake, he turned, in the strength of his strong resolution, 
Leaving behind him the shore, and hurried along in the twilight, 390 

Through the congenial gloom of the forest silent and sombre, 
Till he beheld the lights in the seven houses of Plymouth, 
Shining like seven stars in the dusk and mist of the evening. 
Soon he entered his door, and found the redoubtable Captain 
Sitting alone, and absorbed in the martial pages of Caesar, 
Fighting some great campaign in Hainault or Brabant or Flanders. 
" Long have you been on your errand," he said with a cheery demeanor, 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 211 

Even as one who is waiting an answer, and fears not the issue. 

44 Not far off is the house, although the woods are between us ; 

But you have lingered so long, that while you were going and coming 400 

I have fought ten battles and sacked and demolished a city. 

Come, sit down, and in'order relate to me all that has happened." 

Then John Alden spake, and related the wondrous adventure, 
From beginning to end, minutely, just as it happened ; 
How he had seen Priscilla, and how he had sped in his courtship, 
Only smoothing a little, and softening down her refusal. 
But when he came at length to the words Priscilla had spoken, 
Words so tender and cruel : ' 4 Why don't you speak for yourself, John ?" 
Up leaped the Captain of Plymouth, and stamped on the floor, till his armor 
Clanged on the wall, where it hung, with a sound of sinister omen. 410 

All his pent-up wrath burst forth in a sudden explosion, 
E'en as a hand-grenade, that scatters destruction around it. 
Wildly he shouted, and loud : "John Alden! you have betrayed me ! 
Me, Miles Standish, your friend ! have supplanted, defrauded, betrayed me ! 
One of my ancestors ran his sword through the heart of Wat Tyler ; 
Who shall prevent me from running my own through the heart of a traitor ? 
Yours is the greater treason, for yours is a treason to friendship ! 
You, who lived under my roof, whom I cherished and loved as a brother ; 
You, who have fed at my board, and drunk at my cup, to whose keeping 
I have intrusted my honor, my thoughts the most sacred and secret, — 426 

You too, Brutus ! ah w T oe to the name of friendship hereafter ! 
Brutus was Caesar's friend, and you were mine, but henceforward 
Let there be nothing between us save war, and implacable hatred ! " 

So spake the Captain of Plymouth, and strode about in the chamber, 
Chafing and choking with rage ; like cords were the veins on his temples. 
But in the midst of his anger a man appeared at the doorway, 
Bringing in uttermost haste a message of urgent importance, 
Rumors of danger and war and hostile incursions of Indians ! 
Straightway the Captain paused, and, without further question or parley, 
Took from the nail on the wall his sword with its scabbard of iron, 43 o 

Buckled the belt round his waist, and, frowning fiercely, departed. 
Alden was left alone. He heard the clank of the scabbard 
Growing fainter and fainter, and dying away in the distance. 
Then he arose from his seat, and looked forth into the darkness, 
Felt the cool air blow on his cheek, that was hot with the insult, 
Lifted his eyes to the heavens, and, folding his hands as in childhood, 
Prayed in the silence of night to the Father who seeth in secret. 

Meanwhile, the choleric Captain strode wrathful away to the council, 
Found it already assembled, impatiently waiting his coming ; 
Men in the middle of life, austere and grave in deportment, 440 

Only one of them old, the hill that was nearest to heaven, 
Covered with snow, but erect,- the excellent Elder of Plymouth. 
God had sifted three kingdoms to find the wheat for this planting, 
Then had sifted the wheat, as the living seed of a nation ; 



: 



2i2 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

So say the chronicles old, and such is the faith of the people! 

Near them was standing an Indian, in attitude stern and defiant, 

Naked down to the waist, and grim and ferocious in aspect ; 

While on the table before them was lying unopened a Bible, 

Ponderous, bound in leather, brass-studded, printed in Holland, 

And beside it outstretched the skin of a rattlesnake glittered, 45 o 

Filled, like a quiver, with arrows ; a signal and challenge of warfare, 

Brought by the Indian, and speaking with arrowy tongues of defiance. 

This Miles Standish beheld, as he entered, and heard them debating 

What were an answer befitting the hostile message and menace, 

Talking of this and of that, contriving, suggesting, objecting; 

One voice only for peace, and that the voice of the Elder, 

Judging it wise and well that some at least were converted, 

Rather than any were slain, for this was but Christian behavior ! 

Then out spake Miles Standish, the stalwart Captain of Plymouth, 

Muttering deep in his throat, for his voice was husky with anger, 4 6o 

" What! do you mean to make war with milk and the water of roses ? . 

Is it to shoot red squirrels you have your howitzer planted 

There on the roof of the church, or is it to shoot red devils ? 

Truly the only tongue that is understood by a savage 

Must be the tongue of fire that speaks from the mouth of the cannon ! " 

Thereupon answered and said the excellent Elder of Plymouth, 

Somewhat amazed and alarmed at this irreverent language ; 

"Not so thought St. Paul, nor yet the other Apostles ; 

Not from the cannon's mouth were the tongues of fire they spake with ! " 

But unheeded fell this mild rebuke on the Captain, 47 o 

Who had advanced to the table, and thus continued discoursing : 

' ' Leave this matter to me, for to me by right it pertaineth. 

War is a terrible trade ; but in the cause that is righteous, 

Sweet is the smell of powder ; and thus I answer the challenge ! " 

Then from the rattlesnake's skin, with a sudden, contemptuous gesture, 
Jerking the Indian arrows, he filled it with powder and bullets 
Full to the very jaws, and handed it back to the savage, 
Saying, in thundering tones : "Here, take it ! this is your answer ! " 
Silently out of the room then glided the glistening savage, 
Bearing the serpent's skin, and seeming himself like a serpent, 480 

Winding his sinuous way in the dark to the depths of the forest. 

V 

THE SAILING OF THE MAYFLOWER 

Just in the gray of the dawn, as the mists uprose from the meadows, 
There was a stir and a sound in the slumbering village of Plymouth ; 
Clanging and clicking of arms, and the order imperative, "Forward! " 
Given in tone suppressed, a tramp of feet, and then silence. 
Figures ten, in the mist, marched slowly out of the village. 
Standish the stalwart it was, with eight of his valorous army, 
Led by their Indian guide, by Hobomok, friend of the white men, 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 



213 



Northward marching to quell the sudden revolt of the savage. 
Giants they seemed in the mist, or the mighty men of King David ; 
Giants in heart they were, who believed in God and the Bible, — 
Ay, who believed in the smiting of Midianites and Philistines. 
Over them gleamed far off the crimson banners of morning ; 
Under them loud on the sands, the serried billows, advancing, 
Fired along the line, and in regular order retreated. 

Many a mile had they marched, when at length the village of Plymouth 
Woke from its sleep, and arose, intent on its manifold labors. 
Sweet was the air and soft ; and slowly the smoke from the chimneys 



HI,.-" . ; #pH 

t 1 ~ ^W^4 




1 j fi \- m 


z " : ■ - : 


1 


i * 'j§ll 


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<* ^? y 


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' Sweet is the smell of powder ; and thus I answer the challenge 



Rose over roofs of thatch, and pointed steadily eastward ; 

Men came forth from the doors, and paused and talked of the weather, 500 

Said that the wind had changed, and was blowing fair for the Mayflower ; 

Talked of their Captain's departure, and all the dangers that menaced, 

He being gone, the town, and what should be done in his absence. 

Merrily sang the birds, and the tender voices of women 

Consecrated with hymns the common cares of the household. 

Out of the sea rose the sun, and the billows rejoiced at his coming ; 

Beautiful were his feet on the purple tops of the mountains ; 

Beautiful on the sails of the Mayflower riding at anchor, 

Battered and blackened and worn by all the storms of the winter. 

Loosely against her masts was hanging and flapping her canvas, 510 

Rent by so many gales, and patched by the hands of the sailors. 



214 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

Suddenly from her side, as the sun rose over the ocean, 

Darted a puff of smoke, and floated seaward ; anon rang 

Loud over field and forest the cannon's roar, and the echoes 

Heard and repeated the sound, the signal-gun of departure ! 

Ah ! but with louder echoes replied the hearts of the people! 

Meekly, in voices subdued, the chapter was read from the Bible, 

Meekly the prayer was begun, but ended in fervent entreaty ! 

Then from their houses in haste came forth the Pilgrims of Plymouth, 

Men and women and children, all hurrying down to the sea-shore, 520 

Eager, with tearful eyes, to say farewell to the Mayflower, 

Homeward bound o'er the sea, and leaving them here in the desert. 

Foremost among them was Alden. All night he had lain without slumber, 
Turning and tossing about in the heat and unrest of his fever. 
He had beheld Miles Standish, who came back late from the council, 
Stalking into the room, and heard him mutter and murmur ; 
Sometimes it seemed a prayer, and sometimes it sounded like swearing. 
Once he had come to the bed, and stood there a moment in silence ; 
Then he had turned away, and said : "I will not awake him ; 
Let him sleep on, it is best ; for what is the use of more talking! " 53 o 

Then he extinguished the light, and threw himself down on his pallet, 
Dressed as he was, and ready to start at the break of the morning, — 
Covered himself with the cloak he had worn in his campaigns in Flanders, — 
Slept as a soldier sleeps in his bivouac, ready for action. 
But with the dawn he arose ; in the twilight Alden beheld him 
Put on his corselet of steel, and all the rest of his armor, 
Buckle about his waist his trusty blade of Damascus, 
Take from the corner his musket, and so stride out of the chamber. 
Often the heart of the youth had burned and yearned to embrace him, 
Often his lips had essayed to speak, imploring for pardon ; 54 o 

All the old friendship came back, with its tender and grateful emotions ; 
But his pride overmastered the nobler nature within him, — 
Pride, and the sense of his wrong, and the burning fire of the insult. 
So he beheld his friend departing in anger, but spake not, 
Saw him go forth to danger, perhaps to death, and he spake not ! 
Then he arose from his bed, and heard what the people were saying, 
Joined in the talk at the door, with Stephen and Richard and Gilbert, 
Joined in the morning prayer, and in the reading of Scripture, 
And, with the others, in haste went hurrying down to the sea-shore, 
Down to the Plymouth Rock, that had been to their feet as a doorstep 550 

Into a world unknown, — the corner-stone of a nation ! 

There with his boat was the Master, already a little impatient 
Lest he should lose the tide, or the wind might shift to the eastward, 
Square-built, hearty, and strong, with an odor of ocean about him, 
Speaking with this one and that, and cramming letters and parcels 
Into his pockets capacious, and messages mingled together 
Into his narrow brain, till at last he was wholly bewildered. 
Nearer the boat stood Alden, with one foot placed on the gunwale, 
One still firm on the rock, and talking at times with the sailors, 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 



2I 5 



Seated erect on the thwarts, all ready and eager for starting. 5 6o 

He too was eager to go, and thus put an end to his anguish, 

Thinking to fly from despair, that swifter than keel is or canvas, 

Thinking to drown in the sea the ghost that would rise and pursue him. 

But as he gazed on the crowd, he beheld the form of Priscilla 

Standing dejected among them, unconscious of all that was passing. 

Fixed were her eyes upon his, as if she divined his intention, 

Fixed with a look so sad, so reproachful, imploring, and patient, 

That with a sudden revulsion his heart recoiled from its purpose, 

As from the verge of a crag, where one step more is destruction. 

Strange is the heart of man, with its quick, mysterious instincts! 570 

Strange is the life of man, and fatal or fated are moments, 

Whereupon turn, as on hinges, the gates of the wall adamantine ! 




" The echoes 
Heard and repeated the sound, the signal-gun of departure ! 



"Here I remain! " he exclaimed, as he looked at the heavens above him, 
Thanking the Lord whose breath had scattered the mist and the madness, 
Wherein, blind and lost, to death he was staggering headlong. 
" Yonder snow-white cloud, that floats in the ether above me, 
Seems like a hand that is pointing and beckoning over the ocean 



2i6 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

There is another hand, that is not so spectral and ghost-like, 

Holding me, drawing me back, and clasping mine for protection. 

Float, O hand of cloud, and vanish away in the ether! 5 8o 

Roll thyself up like a fist, to threaten and daunt me ; I heed not 

Either your warning or menace, or any omen of evil ! 

There is no land so sacred, no air so pure and so wholesome, 

As is the air she breathes, and the soil that is pressed by her footsteps. 

Here for her sake will I stay, and like an invisible presence 

Hover around her forever, protecting, supporting her weakness; 

Yes ! as my foot was the first that stepped on this rock at the landing, 

So, with the blessing of God, shall it be the last at the leaving ! " 

Meanwhile the Master alert, but with dignified air and important, 
Scanning with watchful eye the tide and the wind and the weather, 59 o 

Walked about on the sands, and the people crowded around him 
Saying a few last words, and enforcing his careful remembrance. 
Then, taking each by the hand, as if he were grasping a tiller, 
Into the boat he sprang, and in haste shoved off to his vessel, 
Glad in his heart to get rid of all this worry and flurry, 
Glad to be gone from a land of sand and sickness and sorrow, 
Short allowance of victual, and plenty of nothing but Gospel ! 
Lost in the sound of the oars was the last farewell of the Pilgrims. 
O strong hearts and true ! not one went back in the Mayflower ! 
No, not one looked back, who had set his hand to this ploughing ! 606 

Soon were heard on board the shouts and songs of the sailors 
Heaving the windlass round, and hoisting the ponderous anchor. 
Then the yards were braced, and all sails set to the west-wind, 
Blowing steady and strong ; and the Mayflower sailed from the harbor, 
Rounded the point of the Gurnet, and leaving far to the southward 
Island and cape of sand, and the Field of the First Encounter, 
Took the wind on her quarter, and stood for the open Atlantic, 
Borne on the send of the sea, and the swelling hearts of the Pilgrims. 

Long in silence they watched the receding sail of the vessel, 
Much endeared to them all, as something living and human ; 610 

Then, as if filled with the spirit, and rapt in a vision prophetic, 
Baring his hoary head, the excellent Elder of Plymouth 

Said, ' ' Let us pray ! " and they prayed, and thanked the Lord and took cour- 
age. 
Mournfully sobbed the waves at the base of the rock, and above them 
Bowed and whispered the wheat on the hill of death, and their kindred 
Seemed to awake in their graves, and to join in the prayer that they uttered. 
Sun-illumined and white, on the eastern verge of the ocean 
Gleamed the departing sail, like a marble slab in a graveyard ; 
Buried beneath it lay forever all hope of escaping. 

Lo ! as they turned to depart, they saw the form of an Indian. 620 

Watching them from the hill ; but while they spake with each other, 
Pointing with outstretched hands, and saying, " Look ! " he had vanished. 
So they returned to their homes ; j?ut Alden lingered a little, 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 217 

Musing alone on the shore, and watching the wash of the billows 
Round the base of the rock, and the sparkle and flash of the sunshine, 
Like the spirit of God, moving visibly over the waters. 

VI 

PRISCILLA 

Thus for a while he stood, and mused by the shore of the ocean, 

Thinking of many things, and most of all of Priscilla ; 

And as if thought had the power to draw to itself, like the loadstone, 

Whatsoever it touches, by subtile laws of its nature, 630 

Lo ! as he turned to depart, Priscilla was standing beside him. 

" Are you so much offended, you will not speak to me ? " said she. 
" Am I so much to blame, that yesterday, when you were pleading 
Warmly the cause of another, my heart, impulsive and wayward, 
Pleaded your own, and spake out, forgetful perhaps of decorum? 
Certainly you can forgive me for speaking so frankly, for saying 
What I ought not to have said, yet now I can never unsay it; 
For there are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion, 
That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble 
Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret, 640 

Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together. 
Yesterday I was shocked, when I heard you speak of Miles Standish, 
Praising his virtues, transforming his very defects into virtues, 
Praising his courage and strength, and even his fighting in Flanders, 
As if by fighting alone you could win the heart of a woman, 
Quite overlooking yourself and the rest, in exalting your hero. 
Therefore I spake as I did, by an irresistible impulse. 
You will forgive me, I hope, for the sake of the friendship between us, 
Which is too true and too sacred to be so easily broken ! " 
Thereupon answered John Alden, the scholar, the friend of Miles Standish: 650 
" I was not angry with you, with myself alone I was angry, 
Seeing how badly I managed the matter I had in my keeping." 
" No! " interrupted the maiden, with answer prompt and decisive; 
" No ; you were angry with me, for speaking so frankly and freely. 
It was wrong, I acknowledge ; for it is the fate of a woman 
Long to be patient and silent, to wait like a ghost that is speechless, 
Till some questioning voice dissolves the spell of its silence. 
Hence is the inner life of so many suffering women 
Sunless and silent and deep, like subterranean rivers 

Running through caverns of darkness, unheard, unseen, and unfruitful, 660 
Chafing their channels of stone, with endless and profitless murmurs." 
Thereupon answered John Alden, the young man, the lover of women : 
" Heaven forbid it, Priscilla ; and truly they seem to me always 
More like the beautiful rivers that watered the garden of Eden, 
More like the river Euphrates, through deserts of Havilah flowing, 
Filling the land with delight, and memories sweet of the garden ! " 
"Ah, by these words, I can see," again interrupted the maiden, 



l : 



218 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

"How very little you prize me, or care for what I am saying. 

When from the depths of my heart, in pain and with secret misgiving, 

Frankly I speak to you, asking for sympathy only and kindness, 670 

Straightway you take up my words, that are plain and direct and in earnest, 

Turn them away from their meaning, and answer with flattering phrases. 

This is not right, is not just, is not true to the best that is in you ; 

For I know and esteem you, and feel that your nature is noble, 

Lifting mine up to a higher, a more ethereal level. 

Therefore I value your friendship, and feel it perhaps the more keenly 

If you say aught that implies I am only as one among many, 

If you make use of those common and complimentary phrases 

Most men think so fine, in dealing and speaking with women, 

But which women reject as insipid, if not as insulting." 680 

Mute and amazed was Alden ; and listened and looked at Priscilla, 
Thinking he never had seen her more fair, more divine in her beauty. , ] 

He who but yesterday pleaded so glibly the cause of another, 
Stood there embarrassed and silent, and seeking in vain for an answer. 
So the maiden went on, and little divined or imagined 
What was at work in his heart, that made him so awkward and speechless, j 
" Let us, then, be what we are, and speak what we think, and in all things 
Keep ourselves loyal to truth, and the sacred professions of friendship. 
It is no secret I tell you, nor am I ashamed to declare it : 
I have liked to be with you, to see you, to speak with you always. 690 

So I was hurt at your words, and a little affronted to hear you 
Urge me to marry your friend, though he were the Captain Miles Standish 
For I must tell you the truth : much more to me is your friendship 
Than all the love he could give, were he twice the hero you think him." 
Then she extended her hand, and Alden, who eagerly grasped it, 
Felt all the wounds in his heart, that were aching and bleeding so sorely, 
Healed by the touch of that hand, and he said, with a voice full of feeling: 
" Yes, we must ever be friends ; and of all who offer you friendship 
Let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and dearest ! " 

Casting a farewell look at the glimmering sail of the Mayflower, 700 

Distant, but still in sight, and sinking below the horizon, 
Homeward together they walked, with a strange, indefinite feeling, 
That all the rest had departed and left them alone in the desert. 
But, as they went through the fields in the blessing and smile of the sun- 
shine, 
Lighter grew their hearts, and Priscilla said very archly : 
" Now that our terrible Captain has gone in pursuit of the Indians, 
Where he is happier far than he would be commanding a household, 
You may speak boldly, and tell me of all that happened between you, 
When you returned last night, and said how ungrateful you found me." 
Thereupon answered John Alden, and told her the whole of the story, — 710 
Told her his own despair, and the direful wrath of Miles Standish. 
Whereat the maiden smiled, and said between laughing and earnest, 
" He is a little chimney, and heated hot in a moment ! " 
But as he gently rebuked her, and told her how he had suffered, — 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 219 

How he had even determined to sail that day in the Mayflower, 

And had remained for her sake, on hearing the dangers that threatened, — 

All her manner was changed, and she said with a faltering accent, 

" Truly I thank you for this : how good you have been to me always! " 

Thus, as a pilgrim devout, who toward Jerusalem journeys, 
Taking three steps in advance, and one reluctantly backward, 720 

Urged by importunate zeal, and withheld by pangs of contrition ; 
Slowly but steadily onward, receding yet ever advancing, 
Journeyed this Puritan youth to the Holy Land of his longings, 
Urged by the fervor of love, and withheld by remorseful misgivings. 

VII 

THE MARCH OF MILES STANDISH 

Meanwhile the stalwart Miles Standish was marching steadily northward, 
Winding through forest and swamp, and along the trend of the sea-shore, 
All day long, with hardly a halt, the fire of his anger 
Burning and crackling within, and the sulphurous odor of powder 
Seeming more sweet to his nostrils than all the scents of the forest. 
Silent and moody he went, and much he revolved his discomfort ; 730 

He who was used to success, and to easy victories always, 
Thus to be flouted, rejected, and laughed to scorn by a maiden, 
Thus to be mocked and betrayed by the friend whom most he had trusted ! 
j Ah ! 't was too much to be borne, and he fretted and chafed in his armor ! 

" I alone am to blame," he muttered, "for mine was the folly. 
What has a rough old soldier, grown grim and gray in the harness, 
Used to the camp and its way, to do with the wooing of maidens? 
'T was but a dream, — let it pass, — let it vanish like so many others! 
What I thought was a flower is only a weed, and is worthless ; 
Out of my heart will I pluck it, and throw it away, and henceforward 740 

Be but a fighter of battles, a lover and wooer of dangers ! " 
Thus he revolved in his mind his sorry defeat and discomfort, 
While he was marching by day or lying at night in the forest, 
Looking up at the trees, and the constellations beyond them. 

After a three days' march he came to an Indian encampment 
Pitched on the edge of a meadow, between the sea and the forest ; 
Women at work by the tents, and warriors, horrid with war-paint, 
Seated about a fire, and smoking and talking together ; 
Who, when they saw from afar the sudden approach of the white men, 
Saw the flash of the sun on breastplate and sabre and musket, 750 

Straightway leaped to their feet, and two, from among them advancing, 
Came to parley with Standish, and offer him furs as a present ; 
Friendship was in their looks, but in their hearts there was hatred. 
Braves of the tribe were these, and brothers, gigantic in stature, 
Huge as Goliath of Gath, or the terrible Og, king of Bashan; 
One was Pecksuot named, and the other was called Wattawamat. 



220 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 



Round their necks were suspended their knives in scabbards of wampum, 
Two-edged, trenchant knives, with points as sharp as a needle. 
Other arms had they none, for they were cunning and crafty. 
"Welcome, English!" they said, —these words they had learned from the 
traders 7 6o 

Touching at times on the coast, to barter and chaffer for peltries. 
Then in their native tongue they began to parley with Standish, 
Through his guide and interpreter. Hobomok, friend of the white man, 




Held it aloft and displayed a woman's face on the handle " 



Begging for blankets and knives, but mostly for muskets and powder, 

Kept by the white man, they said, concealed, with the plague, in his cellars, 

Ready to be let loose, and destroy his brother the red man! 

But when Standish refused, and said he would give them the Bible, 

Suddenly changing their tone, they began to boast and to bluster. 

Then Wattawamat advanced with a stride in front of the other, 

And, with a lofty demeanor, thus vauntingly spake to the Captain : ? 

" Now Wattawamat can see, by the fiery eyes of the Captain, 

Angry is he in his heart ; but the heart of the brave Wattawamat 

Is not afraid at the sight. He was not born of a woman, 

But on a mountain at night, from an oak-tree riven by lightning, 

Forth he sprang at abound, with all his weapons about him, 

Shouting, ' Who is there here to fight with the brave Wattawamat ? ' " 

Then he unsheathed his knife, and, whetting the blade on his left hand, 

Held it aloft and displayed a woman's face on the handle ; 

Saying, with bitter expression and look of sinister meaning: 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 221 

" I have another at home, with the face of a man on the handle ; 780 

By and by they shall marry ; and there will be plenty of children ! " 

Then stood Pecksuot forth, self- vaunting, insulting Miles Standish : 
While with his fingers he patted the knife that hung at his bosom, 
Drawing it half from its sheath, and plunging it back, as he muttered, 
"By and by it shall see ; it shall eat ; ah, ha ! but shall speak not ! 
This is the mighty Captain the white men have sent to destroy us ! 
He is a little man ; let him go and work with the women ! " 

Meanwhile Standish had noted the faces and figures of Indians 
Peeping and creeping about from bush to tree in the forest, 
Feigning to look for game, with arrows set on their bow-strings, 790 

Drawing about him still closer and closer the net of their ambush. 
But undaunted he stood, and dissembled and treated them smoothly; 
So the old chronicles say, that were writ in the days of the fathers. 
But when he heard their defiance, the boast, the taunt, and the insult, 
All the hot blood of his race, of Sir Hugh and of Thurston de Standish, 
Boiled and beat in his heart, and swelled in the veins of his temples. 
Headlong he leaped on the boaster, and, snatching his knife from its scabbard, 
Plunged it into his heart, and, reeling backward, the savage 
Fell with his face to the sky, and a fiend-like fierceness upon it. 
Straight there arose from the forest the awful sound of the war-whoop. 800 
And, like a flurry of snow on the whistling wind of December, 
Swift and sudden and keen came a flight of feathery arrows. 
Then came a cloud of smoke, and out of the cloud came the lightning, 
Out of the lightning thunder ; and death unseen ran before it. 
Frightened the savages fled for shelter in swamp and in thicket, 
Hotly pursued and beset ; but their Sachem, the brave Wattawamat, 
Fled not ; he was dead. Unswerving and swift had a bullet 
Passed through his brain, and he fell with both hands clutching the green- 
sward, 
Seeming in death to hold back from his foe the land of his fathers. 

There on the flowers of the meadow the warriors lay, and above them, 810 
Silent, with folded arms, stood Hobomok, friend of the white man. 
Smiling at length he exclaimed to the stalwart Captain of Plymouth: — 
" Pecksuot bragged very loud, of his courage, his strength, and his stature, — 
Mocked the great Captain, and called him a little man ; but I see now 
Big enough have you been to lay him speechless before you ! " 

Thus the first battle was fought and won by the stalwart Miles Standish. 
When the tidings thereof were brought to the village of Plymouth, 
And as a trophy of war the head of the brave Wattawamat 
Scowled from the roof of the fort, which at once was a church and a fortress, 
All who beheld it rejoiced, and praised the Lord, and took courage. 820 

Only Priscilla averted her face from this spectre of terror, 
Thanking God in her heart that she had not married Miles Standish ; 
Shrinking, fearing almost, lest, coming home from his battles, 
He should lay claim to her hand, as the prize and reward of his valor. 



222 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

VIII 

THE SPINNING-WHEEL 

Month after month passed away, and in Autumn the ships of the merchants 

Came with kindred and friends, with cattle and corn for the Pilgrims. 

All in the village was peace ; the men were intent on their labors, 

Busy with hewing and building, with garden-plot and with merestead, 

Busy with breaking the glebe, and mowing the grass in the meadows, 

Searching the sea for its fish, and hunting the deer in the forest. 830 

All in the village was peace ; but at times the rumor of warfare 

Filled the air with alarm, and the apprehension of danger. 

Bravely the stalwart Standish was scouring the land with his forces, 

Waxing valiant in fight and defeating the alien armies, 

Till his name had become a sound of fear to the nations. 

Anger was still in his heart, but at times the remorse and contrition 

Which in all noble natures succeed the passionate outbreak, 

Came like a rising tide, that encounters the rush of a river, 

Staying its current awhile, but making it bitter and brackish. 

Meanwhile Alden at home had built him a new habitation, 840 

Solid, substantial, of timber rough-hewn from the firs of the forest. 
Wooden barred was the door, and the roof was covered with rushes; 
Latticed the windows were, and the window-panes were of paper, 
Oiled to admit the light, while wind and rain were excluded. 
There too he dug a well, and around it planted an orchard : 
Still may be seen to this day some trace of the well and the orchard. 
Close to the house was the stall, where, safe and secure from annoyance, 
Raghorn, the snow-white bull, that had fallen to Alden's allotment 
In the division of cattle, might ruminate in the night-time 
Over the pastures he cropped, made fragrant by sweet pennyroyal. 850 

Oft when his labor was finished, with eager feet would the dreamer 
Follow the pathway that ran through the woods to the house of Priscilla, 
Led by illusions romantic and subtile deceptions of fancy, 
Pleasure disguised as duty, and love in the semblance of friendship. 
Ever of her he thought, when he fashioned the walls of his dwelling ; 
Ever of her he thought, when he delved in the soil of his garden ; 
Ever of her he thought, when he read in his Bible on Sunday 
Praise of the virtuous woman, as she is described in the Proverbs, — 
How the heart of her husband doth safely trust in her always, 
How all the days of her life she will do him good, and not evil, 860 

How she seeketh the wool and the flax and worketh with gladness, 
How she layeth her hand to the spindle and holdeth the distaff, 
How she is not afraid of the snow for herself or her household, 
Knowing her household are clothed with the scarlet cloth of her weaving ! 

So as she sat at her wheel one afternoon in the Autumn, 
Alden, who opposite sat, and was watching her dexterous fingers, 
As if the thread she was spinning were that of his life and his fortune, 
After a pause in their talk, thus spake to the sound of the spindle. 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 223 

" Truly, Priscilla," he said, " when I see you spinning and spinning, 

Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others, 870 

Suddenly you are transformed, are visibly changed in a moment ; 

You are no longer Priscilla, but Bertha the Beautiful Spinner." 

Here the light foot on the treadle grew swifter and swifter ; the spindle 

Uttered an angry snarl, and the thread snapped short in her fingers ; 

While the impetuous speaker, not heeding the mischief, continued : 

"You are the beautiful Bertha, the spinner, the queen of Helvetia ; 

She whose story I read at a stall in the streets of Southampton, 

Who, as she rode on her palfrey, o'er valley and meadow and mountain, 

Ever was spinning her thread from a distaff fixed to her saddle. 

She was so thrifty and good, that her name passed into a proverb. 880 

So shall it be with your own, when the spinning-wheel shall no longer 

Hum in the house of the farmer, and fill its chambers with music. 

Then shall the mothers, reproving, relate how it was in their childhood, 

Praising the good old times, and the days of Priscilla the spinner ! " 

Straight uprose from her wheel the beautiful Puritan maiden, 

Pleased with the praise of her thrift from him whose praise was the sweetest, 

Drew from the reel on the table a snowy skein of her spinning, 

Thus making answer, meanwhile, to the flattering phrases of Alden : 

" Come, you must not be idle ; if I am a pattern for housewives, 

Show yourself equally worthy of being the model of husbands. 890 

Hold this skein on your hands, while I wind it, ready for knitting ; 

Then who knows but hereafter, when fashions have changed and the manners, 

Fathers may talk to their sons of the good old times of John Alden ! " 

Thus, with a jest and a laugh, the skein on his hands she adjusted, 

He sitting awkwardly there, with his arms extended before him, 

She standing graceful, erect, and winding the thread from his fingers, 

Sometimes chiding a little his clumsy manner of holding, 

Sometimes touching his hands, as she disentangled expertly 

Twist or knot in the yarn, unawares — for how could she help it? — 

Sending electrical thrills through every nerve in his body. 900 

Lo! in the midst of this scene, a breathless messenger entered, 
Bringing in hurry and heat the terrible news from the village. 
Yes ; Miles Standish was dead ! — an Indian had brought them the tidings, — 
Slain by a poisoned arrow, shot down in the front of the battle, 
Into an ambush beguiled, cut off with the whole of his forces ; 
All the town would be burned, and all the people be murdered ! 
Such were the tidings of evil that burst on the hearts of the hearers. 
Silent and statue-like stood Priscilla, her face looking backward 
Still at the face of the speaker, her arms uplifted in horror ; 
But John Alden, upstarting, as if the barb of the arrow 910 

Piercing the heart of his friend had struck his own, and had sundered 
Once and forever the bonds that held him bound as a captive, 
Wild with excess of sensation, the awful delight of his freedom, 
Mingled with pain and regret, unconscious of what he was doing, 
Clasped, almost with a groan, the motionless form of Priscilla, 
Pressing her close to his heart, as forever his own, and exclaiming : 
" Those whom the Lord hath united, let no man put them asunder ! " 



: 



224 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

Even as rivulets twain, from distant and separate sources, 
Seeing each other afar, as they leap from the rocks, and pursuing 
Each one its devious path, but drawing nearer and nearer, 920 

Rush together at last, at their trysting-place in the forest ; 
So these lives that had run thus far in separate channels, 
Coming in sight of each other, then swerving and flowing asunder, 
Parted by barriers strong, but drawing nearer and nearer, 
Rushed together at last, and one was lost in the other. 

IX 

THE WEDDING-DAY 

Forth from the curtain of clouds, from the tent of purple and scarlet, 

Issued the sun, the great High -Priest, in his garments resplendent, 

Holiness unto the Lord, in letters of light, on his forehead, 

Round the hem of his robe the golden bells and pomegranates. 

Blessing the world he came, and the bars of vapor beneath him 93a 

Gleamed like a grate of brass, and the sea at his feet was a laver ! 

This was the wedding morn of Priscilla the Puritan maiden. 
Friends were assembled together ; the Elder and Magistrate also 
Graced the scene with their presence, and stood like the Law and the Gospel, 
One with the sanction of earth and one with the blessing of heaven. 
Simple and brief was the wedding, as that of Ruth and of Boaz. 
Softly the youth and the maiden repeated the words of betrothal, 
Taking each other for husband and wife in the Magistrate's presence, 
After the Puritan way, and the laudable custom of Holland. 
Fervently then, and devoutly, the excellent Elder of Plymouth 940 

Prayed for the hearth and the home, that were founded that day in affec- 
tion, 
Speaking of life and of death, and imploring Divine benedictions. 

Lo! when the service was ended, a form appeared on the threshold, 
Clad in armor of steel, a sombre and sorrowful figure ! 
Why does the bridegroom start and stare at the strange apparition? 
"Why does the bride turn pale, and hide her face on his shoulder? 
Is it a phantom of air, — a bodiless, spectral illusion? 
Is it a ghost from the grave, that has come to forbid the betrothal? 
Long had it stood there unseen, a guest uninvited, unwelcomed ; 
Over its clouded eyes there had passed at times an expression 950 

Softening the gloom and revealing the warm heart hidden beneath them, 
As when across the sky the driving rack of the rain-cloud 
Grows for a moment thin, and betrays the sun by its brightness. 
Once it had lifted its hand, and moved its lips, but was silent, 
As if an iron will had mastered the fleeting intention. 
But when were ended the troth and the prayer and the last benediction, 
Into the room it strode, and the people beheld with amazement 
Bodily there in his armor Miles Standish, the Captain of Plymouth! 
Grasping the bridegroom's hand, he said with emotion, " Forgive me ! 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 



225 



I have been angry and hurt, — too long have I cherished the feeling ; 960. 

I have been cruel and hard, but now, thank God ! it is ended. 

Mine is the same hot blood that leaped in the veins of Hugh Standish, 

Sensitive, swift to resent, but as swift in atoning for error. 

Never so much as now was Miles Standish the friend of John Alden." 

Thereupon answered the bridegroom: " Let all be forgotten between us, — 

All save the dear old friendship, and that shall grow older and dearer ! " • 

Then the Captain advanced, and, bowing, saluted Priscilla, 




Onward the bridal procession now 



to their new habitation " 



bravely, and after the manner of old-fashioned gentry in England, 
Something of camp and of court, of town and of country, commingled, 
Wishing her joy of her wedding, and loudly lauding her husband. 
Then he said with a smile: " I should have remembered the adage, — 
If you would be well served, you must serve yourself ; and moreover, 
No man can gather cherries in Kent at the season of Christmas 1 " 



-c 



226 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

. Great was the people's amazement, and greater yet their rejoicing, 

Thus to behold once more the sunburnt face of their Captain, 

Whom they had mourned as dead ; and they gathered and crowded about 

him, 
Eager to see him and hear him, forgetful of bride and of bridegroom, 
Questioning, answering, laughing, and each interrupting the other 
Till the good Captain declared, being quite overpowered and bewildered, 
He had rather by far break into an Indian encampment, 9 8o 

Than come again to a wedding to which he had not been invited. 

Meanwhile the bridegroom went forth and stood with the bride at the door- 
way, 
Breathing the perfumed air of that warm and beautiful morning. 
Touched with autumnal tints, but lonely and sad in the sunshine, 
Lay extended before them the land of toil and privation ; 
There were the graves of the dead, and the barren waste of the sea-shore, 
There the familiar fields, the groves of pine, and the meadows; 
But to their eyes transfigured, it seemed as the Garden of Eden, 
Filled with the presence of God, whose voice was the sound of the ocean. 

Soon was their vision disturbed by the noise and stir of departure, 99 o 

Friends coming forth from the house, and impatient of longer delaying, 
Each with his plan for the day, and the work that was left uncompleted. 
Then from a stall near at hand, amid exclamations of wonder, 
Alden the thoughtful, the careful, so happy, so proud of Priscilla, 
Brought out his snow-white bull, obeying the hand of its master, 
Led by a cord that was tied to an iron ring in its nostrils, 
Covered with crimson cloth, and a cushion placed for a saddle. 
She should not walk, he said, through the dust and heat of the noonday ; 
Nay, she should ride like a queen, not plod along like a peasant. 
Somewhat alarmed at first, but reassured by the others, 1000 

Placing her hand on the cushion, her foot in the hand of her husband, 
Gayly, with joyous laugh, Priscilla mounted her palfrey. 
"Nothing is wanting now," he said with a smile, " but the distaff ; 
Then you would be in truth my queen, my beautiful Bertha!" 

Onward the bridal procession now moved to their new habitation, 
Happy husband and wife, and friends conversing together. 
Pleasantly murmured the brook, as they crossed the ford in the forest, 
Pleased with the image that passed, like a dream of love, through its bosom, 
Tremulous, floating in air, o'er the depths of the azure abysses. 
Down through the golden leaves the sun was pouring his splendors, 1010 

Gleaming on purple grapes, that, from branches above them suspended, 
Mingled their odorous breath with the balm of the pine and the fir-tree, 
Wild and sweet as the clusters that grew in the valley of Eshcol. 
Like a picture it seeemed of the primitive, pastoral ages, 
Fresh with the youth of the world, and recalling Rebecca and Isaac, 
Old and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful always, 
Love immortal and young in the endless succession of lovers. 
So through the Plymouth woods passed onward the bridal procession. 




" Each man's chimney is his Golden Mile-Stone " (See p. 241.) 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



FLIGHT THE FIRST 



. . . come i gru van cantando lor lai, 
Facendo in aer di se lunga riga. 

Dante 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 

Black shadows fall 
From the lindens tall, 
That lift aloft their massive wall 
Against the southern sky; 



And from the realms 
Of the shadowy elms 
A tide-like darkness overwhelms 
The fields that round us lie. 

But the night is fair, 
And everywhere 



228 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



A warm, soft vapor fills the air, 
And distant sounds seem near ; 

And above, in the light 
Of the star-lit night, 
Swift birds of passage wing their 
flight 
Through the dewy atmosphere. 

I hear the beat 
Of their pinions fleet, 
As from the land of snow and sleet 
They seek a southern lea. 

I hear the cry 
Of their voices high 
Falling dreamily through the sky, 
But their forms I cannot see. 

Oh, say not so ! 
Those sounds that flow 
In murmurs of delight and woe 
Come not from wings of birds. 

They are the throngs 
Of the poet's songs, 
Murmurs of pleasures, and pains, and 
wrongs, 
The sound of wing&d words. 

This is the cry 
Of souls, that high 
On toiling, beating pinions fly, 
Seeking a warmer clime. 

From their distant flight 
Through realms of light 
It falls into our world of night, 
With the murmuring sound of 
rhyme. 



PROMETHEUS 

OR THE POET'S FORETHOUGHT 

Of Prometheus, how undaunted 
On Olympus' shining bastions 
His audacious foot he planted, 
Myths are told and songs are chanted, 
Full of promptings and suggestions. 



Beautiful is the tradition 
Of that flight through 
portals, 
The old classic superstition 



heavenlv 



Of the theft and the transmission 
Of the fire of the Immortals ! 10 

First the deed of noble daring, 

Born of heavenward aspiration, 

Then the fire with mortals sharing, 

Then the vulture, — the despairing 

Cry of pain on crags Caucasian. 

All is but a symbol painted 

Of the Poet, Prophet, Seer ; 
Only those are crowned and sainted 
Who with grief have been acquainted, 
Making nations nobler, freer. 20 

In their feverish exultations, 

In their triumph and their yearning, 
In their passionate pulsations, 
In their words among the nations, 
The Promethean fire is burning. 

Shall it, then, be unavailing, 
All this toil for human culture ? 

Through the cloud - rack, dark and 
trailing, 

Must they see above them sailing 
O'er life's barren crags the vulture ? 

Such a fate as this was Dante's, 31 

By defeat and exile maddened ; 
Thus were Milton and Cervantes, 
Nature's priests and Corybantes, 
By affliction touched and saddened. 

But the glories so transcendent 

That around their memories cluster, 
And, on all their steps attendant, 
Make their darkened lives resplendent 
With such gleams of inward lustre ! 

All the melodies mysterious, 41 

Through the dreary darkness 
chanted ; 
Thoughts in attitudes imperious, 
Voices soft, and deep, and serious, 
Words that whispered, songs that 
haunted ! 

All the soul in rapt suspension, 
All the quivering, palpitating 
Chords of life in utmost tension, 
With the fervor of invention, 

With the rapture of creating ! 50 

Ah, Prometheus! heaven-scaling! 
In such hours of exultation 



EPIMETHEUS 



229 



Even the faintest heart, unquailing, 
Might behold the vulture sailing 
Round the cloudy crags Caucasian ! 

Though to all there be not given 

Strength for such sublime endeavor. 
Thus to scale the walls of heaven, 
And to leaven with fiery leaven, 
All the hearts of men forever ; 60 

Yet all bards, whose hearts unblighted 

Honor and believe the presage, 
Hold aloft their torches lighted, 
Gleaming through the realms be- 
nighted, 
As they onward bear the message ! 



EPIMETHEUS 

OR THE POET'S AFTERTHOUGHT 

Have I dreamed ? or was it real, 

What I saw as in a vision, 
When to marches hymeneal 
In the land of the Ideal 

Moved my thought o'er Fields Ely- 
sian? 

What! are these the guests whose 
glances 
Seemed like sunshine gleaming 
round me 
These the wild, bewildering fancies, 
That with dithyrambic dances 
As with magic circles bound me ? 10 

Ah! how cold are their caresses! 

Pallid cheeks, and haggard bosoms ! 
Spectral gleam their snow - white 

dresses, 
And from loose dishevelled tresses 

Fall the hyacinthine blossoms ! 

O my songs ! whose winsome mea- 
sures 

Filled my heart with secret rapture ! 
Children of my golden leisures! 
Must even your delights and pleasures 

Fade and perish with the capture? 20 

Fair they seemed, those songs sono- 
rous, 
When they came to me unbidden ; 
Voices single, and in chorus, 



Like the wild birds singing o'er us 
In the dark of branches hidden. 

Disenchantment ! Disillusion ! 

Must each noble aspiration 
Come at last to this conclusion, 
Jarring discord, wild confusion, 

Lassitude, renunciation ? 30 

Not with steeper fall nor faster, 
From the sun's serene dominions, 

Not through brighter realms nor 
vaster, 

In swift ruin and disaster, 

Icarus fell with shattered pinions ! 

Sweet Pandora ! dear Pandora ! 

Why did mighty Jove create thee 
Coy as Thetis, fair as Flora, 
Beautiful as young Aurora, 

If to win thee is to hate thee ? 40 

No, not hate thee ! for this feeling 

Of unrest and long resistance 
Is but passionate appealing, 
A prophetic whisper stealing 
O'er the chords of our existence. 

Him whom thou dost once enamor, 

Thou, beloved, never leavest ; 
In life's discord, strife, and clamor, 
Still he feels thy spell of glamour ; 
Him of Hope thou ne'er bereavest. 50 

Weary hearts by thee are lifted, 
Struggling souls by thee are strength- 
ened, 
Clouds of fear asunder rifted, 
Truth from falsehood cleansed and 
sifted, 
Lives, like days in summer, length- 
ened ! 

Therefore art thou ever dearer, 

O my Sibyl, my deceiver ! 
For thou makest each mystery clearer, 
And the un attained seems nearer, 
When thou fillest my heart with 
fever ! 60 

Muse of all the Gifts and Graces ! 

Though the fields around us wither, 
There are ampler realms and spaces, 
Where no foot has left its traces : 

Let us turn and wander thither ! 



; 



230 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



THE LADDER OF SAINT 
AUGUSTINE 

Saint Augustine! well hast thou 
said, 

That of our vices we can frame 
A ladder, if we will but tread 

Beneath our feet each deed of shame ! 

All common things, each day's events, 
That with the hour begin and end, 

Our pleasures and our discontents, 
Are rounds by which we may ascend. 

The low desire, the base design, 
That makes another's virtues less ; 10 

The revel of the ruddy wine, 
And all occasions of excess ; 

The longing for ignoble things ; 
The strife for triumph more than 
truth ; 
The hardening of the heart, that 
brings 
Irreverence for the dreams of youth ; 

All thoughts of ill ; all evil deeds, 
That have their root in thoughts of 
ill ; 

Whatever hinders or impedes 
The action of the nobler will ; — 20 

All these must first be trampled down 
Beneath our feet, if we would gain 

In the bright fields of fair renown 
The rignt of eminent domain. 

We have not wings, we cannot soar ; 

But we have feet to scale and climb 
By slow degrees, by more and more, 

The cloudy summits of our time. 

The mighty pyramids of stone 
That wedge-like cleave the desert 
airs, 30 

When nearer seen, and better known, 
Are but gigantic flights of stairs. 

The distant mountains, that uprear 
Their solid bastions to the skies, 

Are crossed by pathways, that appear 
As we to higher levels rise. 

The heights by great men reached and 
kept 
Were not attained by sudden flight, 



But they, while their companions slept, 
Were toiling upward in the night. 40 

Standing on what too long we bore 
With shoulders bent and downcast 
eyes, 

We may discern — unseen before — 
A path to higher destinies, 

Nor deem the irrevocable Past 
As wholly wasted, wholly vain, 

If, rising on its wrecks, at last 
To something nobler we attain. 



THE PHANTOM SHIP 

In Mather's Magnalia Christi, 

Of the old colonial time, 
May be found in prose the legend 

That is here set down in rhyme. 

A ship sailed from New Haven, 
And the keen and frosty airs, 

That filled her sails at parting, 
Were heavy with good men's prayers. 

" O Lord ! if it be thy pleasure " — 
Thus prayed the old divine — 10 

" To bury our friends in the ocean, 
Take them, for they are thine ! " 

But Master Lamberton muttered, 
And under his breath said he, 

" This ship is so crank and walty, 
I fear our grave she will be ! " 

And the ships that came from Eng- 
land, 

When the winter months were gone, 
Brought no tidings of this vessel 

Nor of Master Lamberton. 20 

This put the people to praying 
That the Lord would let them hear 

What in his greater wisdom 

He had done with friends so dear. 



prayers were an- 



And at last their 
swered : 

It was in the month of June, 
An hour before the sunset 

Of a windy afternoon, 

When, steadily steering landward, 
A ship was seen below, 



THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS 



231 



And they knew it was Lamberton, 
Master, 
Who sailed so long ago. 

On she came, with a cloud of canvas, 
Right against the wind that blew, 

Until the eye could distinguish 
The faces of the crew. 

Then fell her straining topmasts, 
Hanging tangled in the shrouds, 

And her sails were loosened and lifted, 
And blown away like clouds. 40 

And the masts, with all their rig- 
ging, 

Fell slowly, one by one, 
And the hulk dilated and vanished, 

As a sea-mist in the sun ! 

And the people who saw this marvel 

Each said unto his friend, 
That this was the mould of their ves- 
sel, 

And thus her tragic end. 

And the pastor of the village 

Gave thanks to God in prayer, 50 

. That, to quiet their troubled spirits, 
He had sent this Ship of Air. 



THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE 
PORTS 

A mist was driving down the British 
Channel, 
The day was just begun, 
And through the window-panes, on 
floor and panel, 
Streamed the red autumn sun. 

It glanced on flowing flag and rippling 
pennon, 
And the white sails of ships ; 
And, from the frowning rampart, the 
black cannon 
Hailed it with feverish lips. 

Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, 
Hithe, and Dover 
Were all alert that day, 10 

To see the French war -steamers 
speeding over, 
When the fog cleared away. 



Sullen and silent, and like couchant 
lions, 
Their cannon, through the night, 
Holding their breath, had watched, in 
grim defiance, 
The sea-coast opposite. 

And now they roared at drum-beat 
from their stations 
On every citadel ; 
Each answering each, with morning 
salutations, 
That all was well. 20 

And down the coast, all taking up the 
burden, 
Replied the distant forts, 
As if to summon from his sleep the 
Warden 
And Lord of the Cinque Ports. 

Him shall no sunshine from the fields 
of azure, 
No drum-beat from the wall, 
No morning gun from the black fort's 
embrasure, 
Awaken with its call ! 

No more, surveying with an eye im- 
partial 
The long line of the coast, 30 

Shall the gaunt figure of the old Field 
Marshal 
Be seen upon his post ! 

For in the night, unseen, a single war- 
rior, 
In sombre harness mailed, 
Dreaded of man, and surnamed the 
Destroyer, 
The rampart wall had scaled. 

He passed into the chamber of the 
sleeper 
The dark and silent room, 
And as he entered, darker grew and 
deeper 
The silence and the gloom. 40 

He did not pause to parley or dissem- 
ble, 
But smote the Warden hoar ; 
Ah ! what a blow ! that made all Eng- 
land tremble 
And groan from shore to shore. 



232 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon 
waited, 

The sun rose bright o'erhead ; 
Nothing in Nature's aspect intimated 

That a great man was dead. 



HAUNTED HOUSES 

All houses wherein men have lived 
and died 
Are haunted houses. Through' the 
open doors 
The harmless phantoms on their er- 
rands glide, 
With feet that make no sound upon 
the floors. 

We meet them at the doorway, on the 
stair, 
Along the passages they come and 
go, 
Impalpable impressions on the air, 
A sense of something moving to 
and fro. 

There are more guests at table than 
the hosts 
Invited ; the illuminated hall 
Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive 
ghosts, 
As silent as the pictures on the wall. 

The stranger at my fireside cannot see 

The forms I see, nor hear the sounds 

I hear ; 

He but perceives what is ; while unto 

me 

All that has been is visible and clear. 

We have no title-deeds to house or 
lands ; 
Owners and occupants of earlier 
dates 
From graves forgotten stretch their 
dusty hands, 
And hold in mortmain still their old 
estates. 

The spirit-world around this world of 
sense 
Floats like an atmosphere, and 
everywhere 
Wafts through these earthly mists 
and vapors dense 
A vital breath of more ethereal air. 



Our little lives are kept in equipoise 

By opposite attractions and desires: 
The struggle of the instinct that en- 
joys, 
And the more noble instinct that 
aspires. 

These perturbations, this perpetual jar 

Of earthly wants and aspirations 

high, 

Come from the influence of an unseen 

star, 

An undiscovered planet in our sky. 

And as the moon from some dark gate 
of cloud 
Throws o'er the sea a floating bridge 
of light, 
Across whose trembling planks our 
fancies crowd 
Into the realm of mystery and 
night,— 

So from the world of spirits there de- 
scends, 
A bridge of light, connecting it with 
this, 
O'er whose unsteady floor, that sways 
and bends, 
Wander our thoughts above the dark 
abyss. 



IN THE CHURCHYARD AT CAM- 
BRIDGE 

In the village churchyard she lies, 
Dust is in her beautiful eyes, 

No more she breathes, nor feels, nor 
stirs ; 
At her feet and at her head 
Lies a slave to attend the dead, 

But their dust is white as hers. 

Was she, a lady of high degree, 
So much in love with the vanity 

And foolish pomp of this world of 
ours ? 
Or was it Christian charity, 
And lowliness and humility, 

The richest and rarest of all dowers ? 

Who shall tell us ? No one speaks ; 
No color shoots into those cheeks, 

Either of anger or of pride, 
At the rude question we have asked ; 



THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S-NEST 



*33 



Nor will the mystery be unmasked 
By those who are sleeping at her 
side. 

Hereafter ?— And do you think to 
look 

On the terrible pages of that Book 
To find her failings, faults, and er- 
rors ? 

Ah, you will then have other cares, 

In your own shortcomings and de- 
spairs, 
In your own secret sins and ter- 
rors! 



Thus as to and fro they went 

Over upland and through hollow, 
Giving their impatience vent, 
Perched upon the Emperor's tent, 
In her nest, they spied a swallow. 

Yes, it was a swallow's nest, 

Built of clay and hair of horses, 
Mane, or tail, or dragoon's crest, 
Found on hedge-rows east and west, 
After skirmish of the forces. 2 

Then an old Hidalgo said, 

As he twirled his gray mustachio, 




In the village churchyard she lies " 



THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S-NEST 

Once the Emperor Charles of Spain, 
With his swarthy, grave command- 
ers, 
I forget in what campaign, 
Long besieged, in mud and rain, 
Some old frontier town of Flanders. 

Up and down the dreary camp, 

In great boots of Spanish leather, 
Striding with a measured tramp, 
These Hidalgos, dull and damp, 
Cursed the Frenchmen, cursed the 
weather. 10 



" Sure this swallow overhead 
Thinks the Emperor's tent a shed, 
And the Emperor but a Macho! " 

Hearing his imperial name 

Coupled with those words of malice, 
Half in anger, half in shame, 
Forth the great campaigner came 

Slowly from his canvas palace. 30 

"Let no hand the bird molest," 
Said he solemnly, " nor hurt her! " 

Adding then, by way of jest, 

1 ' Golondrina is my guest, 
'T is the wife of some deserter ! " 



V. 



234 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



Swift as bowstring speeds a shaft, 


And he who wore the crown of aspho- 


Through the camp was spread the 


dels, 


rumor, 


Descending, at my door began to 


And the soldiers, as they quaffed 


knock, 


Flemish beer at dinner, laughed 


And my soul sank within me, as in 


At the Emperor's pleasant humor. 4 o 


wells 




The waters sink before an earth- 


So unharmed and unafraid 


quake's shock. 


Sat the swallow still and brooded, 




Till the constant cannonade 


I recognized the nameless agony, 


Through the walls a breach had 


The terror and the tremor and the 


made, 


pain, 


And the siege was thus concluded. 


That oft before had filled or haunted 


Then the army, elsewhere bent, 


me, 
And now returned with threefold 


Struck its tents as if disbanding, 


strength again. 20 


Only not the Emperor's tent, 




For he ordered, ere he went, 


The door I opened to my heavenly 


Very curtly, " Leave it standing! " 


guest, 




And listened, for I thought I heard 


So it stood there all alone, 51 


God's voice ; 


Loosely flapping, torn and tattered, 


And, knowing whatso'er he sent was 


Till the brood was fledged and flown, 


best, 


Singing o'er those walls of stone 


Dared neither to lament nor to re- 


Which the cannon-shot had shat- 


joice. 


tered. 






Then with a smile, that filled the 




house with light, 


THE TWO ANGELS 


"My errand is not Death, but 




Life," he said ; 


Two angels, one of Life and one of 


AncJ ere I answered, passing out of 


Death, 


sight, 


Passed o'er our village as the morn- 


On his celestial embassy he sped. 


ing broke ; 




The dawn was on their faces, and be- 


'T was at thy door, friend ! and not 


neath, 


at mine, 


The sombre houses hearsed with 


The angel with the amaranthine 


plumes of smoke. 


wreath, 30 




Pausing, descended, and with voice 


Their attitude and aspect were the 


divine 


same, 


Whispered a word that had a sound 


Alike their features and their robes 


like Death. 


of white ; 




Bat one was crowned with amaranth, 


Then fell upon the house a sudden 


as with flame, 


gloom, 


And one with asphodels, like flakes 


A shadow on those features fair and 


of light. 


thin; 




And softly, from that hushed and 


I saw them pause on their celestial 


darkened room, 


way ; 


Two angels issued, where but one 


Then said I, with deep fear and 


went in. 


doubt oppressed, 10 




" Beat not so loud, my heart, lest 


All is of God! If he but wave his 


thou betray 


hand, 


The place where thy beloved are at 


The mists collect, the rain falls thick 


rest!" 


and loud, 



THE JEWISH CEMETERY AT NEWPORT 



235 



Till, with a smile of light on sea and 
land, 
Lo ! he looks back from the depart- 
ing cloud. 4 o 

Angels of Life and Death alike are 
his; 
Without his leave they pass no 
threshold o'er ; 
Who, then, would wish or dare, be- 
lieving this, 
Against his messengers to shut the 
door? 

DAYLIGHT AND MOONLIGHT 

In broad daylight, and at noon, 
Yesterday I saw the moon 
Sailing high, but faint and white, 
As a school-boy's paper kite. 

In broad daylight, yesterday, 
I read a Poet's mystic lay ; 
And it seemed to me at most 
As a phantom, or a ghost. 

But at length the feverish day 
Like a passion died away, 
And the night, serene and still, 
Fell on village, vale, and hill. 

Then the moon, in all her pride, 
Like a spirit glorified, 
Filled and overflowed the night 
With revelations of her light. 

And the Poet's song again 
Passed like music through my brain ; 
Night interpreted to me 
All its grace and mystery. 

THE JEWISH CEMETERY AT 
NEWPORT 

How strange it seems! These He- 
brews in their graves, 
Close by the street of this fair sea- 
port town, 
Silent beside the never silent waves, 
At rest in all this moving up and 
down! 

The trees are white with dust, that 
o'er their sleep 
Wave their broad curtains in the 
south- wind's breath, 



While underneath these leafy tents 
they keep 
The long, mysterious Exodus of 
Death. 

And these sepulchral stones, so old 
and brown, 
That pave with level flags their 
burial : place, 10 

Seem like the tablets of the Law, 
thrown down 
And broken by Moses at the moun- 
tain's base. 

The very names recorded here are 
strange, 
Of foreign accent, and of different 
climes ; 
Alvares and Rivera interchange 
With Abraham and Jacob of old 
times. 

"Blessed be God, for he created 

Death ! " 

The mourners said, "and Death is 

rest and peace ; " 

Then added, in the certainty of faith, 

"And giveth Life that nevermore 

shall cease." 20 

Closed are the portals of their Syna- 
gogue, 
No Psalms of David now the silence 
break, 
No Rabbi reads the ancient Deca- 
logue 
In the grand dialect the Prophets 
spake. 

Gone are the living, but the dead re- 
main, 
And not neglected; for a hand un 
seen, 
Scattering its bounty, like a summer 
rain, 
Still keeps their graves and their re- 
membrance green. 

How came they here ? What burst of 
Christian hate, 
What persecution, merciless and 
blind, 30 

Drove o'er the sea — that desert deso- 
late — 
These Ishmaels and Hagars of man- 
kind ? 



•v. 



236 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



They lived in narrow streets and lanes 
obscure, 
Ghetto and Judenstrass, in mirk and 
mire ; 
Taught in the school of patience to 
endure 
The life of anguish and the death of 
fire. 

All their lives long, with the unleav- 
ened bread 
And bitter herbs of exile and its 
fears, 
The wasting famine of the heart they 
fed, 
And slaked its thirst with marah of 
their tears. 4° 

Anathema maranatha ! was the cry 
That rang from town to town, from 
street to street : 
At every gate the accursed Mordecai 
Was mocked and jeered, and 
spurned by Christian feet. 

Pride and humiliation hand in hand 
Walked with them through the 
world where'er they went ; 
Trampled and beaten were they as the 
sand, 
And yet unshaken as the continent. 

For in the background figures vague 

and vast 

Of patriarchs and of prophets rose 

sublime, 50 

And all the great traditions of the Past 

They saw reflected in the coming 

time. 

And thus forever with reverted look 
The mystic volume of the world 
they read, 
Spelling it backward, like a Hebrew 
book, 
Till life became a Legend of the 
Dead. 

But ah ! what once has been shall be 
no more ! 
The groaning earth in travail and in 
pain 
Brings forth its races, but does not re- 
store, 
And the dead nations never rise 
again. 60 



OLIVER BASSELIN 



In the Valley of the Vire 

Still is seen an ancient mill, 
With its gables quaint and queer, 
And beneath the window-sill, 
On the stone, 
These words alone: 
" Oliver Basselin lived here." 

Far above it, on the steep, 

Ruined stands the old Chateau ; 
Nothing but the donjon-keep 10 

Left for shelter or for show. 
Its vacant eyes 
Stare at the skies, 
Stare at the valley green and deep. 

Once a convent, old and brown, 

Looked, but ah ! it looks no more, 
From the neighboring hillside down 
On the rushing and the roar 
Of the stream 

Whose sunny gleam 20 

Cheers the little Norman town. 

In that darksome mill of stone, 
To the water's dash and din, 
Careless, humble, and unknown, 
Sang the poet Basselin 
Songs that fill 
That ancient mill 
With a splendor of its own. 

Never feeling of unrest 
Broke the pleasant dream he 
dreamed ; 30 

Only made to be his nest, 
All the lovely valley seemed ; 
No desire 
Of soaring higher 
Stirred or fluttered in his breast. 

True, his songs were not divine ; 

Were not songs of that high art, 
Which, as winds do in the pine, 
Find an answer in each heart ; 

But the mirth 40 

Of this green earth 
Laughed and revelled in his line. 

From the alehouse and the inn, 
Opening on the narrow street, 

Came the loud, convivial din, 
Singing and applause of feet, 



MY LOST YOUTH 



237 



The laughing lays 


He looked at the earth, he looked at 


That in those days 


the sky, 


Sang the poet Basselin. 


He looked at the files of musketry, 




Victor Galbraith ! 


In the castle, cased in steel, 50 


And he said, with a steady voice and 


Knights, who fought at Agincourt, 


eye, 


Watched and waited, spur on heel ; 


" Take good aim ; I am ready to die ! " 


But the poet sang for sport 


Thus challenges death 20 


Songs that rang 


Victor Galbraith. 


Another clang, 




Songs that lowlier hearts could feel. 


Twelve fiery tongues flashed straight 


In the convent, clad in gray, 


Six leaden balls on their errand sped ; 


Sat the monks in lonely cells, 


Victor Galbraith 


Paced the cloisters, knelt to pray, 


Falls to the ground, but he is not dead : 


And the poet heard their bells ; 60 


His name was not stamped on those 


But his rhymes 


balls of lead, 


Found other chimes, 


And they only scath 


Nearer to the earth than they. 


Victor Galbraith. 


Gone are all the barons bold, 


Three balls are in his breast and brain, 


Gone are all the knights and squires, 


But he rises out of the dust again, 30 


Gone the abbot stern and cold, 


Victor Galbraith ! 


And the brotherhood of friars • 


The water he drinks has a bloody 


Not a name 


stain ; 


Remains to fame, 


"Oh, kill me, and put me out of my 


From those mouldering days of old ! 70 


pain ! " 




In his agony prayeth 


But the poet's memory here 


Victor Galbraith. 


Of the landscape makes a part ; 




Like the river, swift and clear, 


Forth dart once more those tongues of 


Flows his song through many a 


flame, 


heart ; 


And the bugler has died a death of 


Haunting still 


shame, 


That ancient mill 


Victor Galbraith ! 


In the valley of the Vire. 


His soul has gone back to whence it 
came 40 


VICTOR GALBRAITH 


And no one answers to the name, 




When the Sergeant saith, 


Under the walls of Monterey 


"Victor Galbraith!" 


At daybreak the bugles began to play, 




Victor Galbraith ! 


Under the walls of Monterey 


In the mist of the morning damp and 


By night a bugle is heard to play, 


gray, 


Victor Galbraith ! 


These were the words they seemed to 


Through the mist of the valley damp 


say: 


and gray 


" Come forth to thy death, 


The sentinels hear the sound, and 


Victor Galbraith!" 


say, 




"That is the wraith 


Forth he came, with a martial tread ; 


Of Victor Galbraith!" 


Firm was his step, erect his head ; 




Victor Galbraith, 10 




He who so well the bugle played, 


MY LOST YOUTH 


Could not mistake the words it said : 




" Come forth to thy death, 


Often I think of the beautiful town 


Victor Galbraith!" 


That is seated by the sea; 



2 3 8 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



Often in thought go up and down 
The pleasant streets of that dear old 
town, 
And my youth comes back to me. 
And a verse of a Lapland song 
Is haunting my memory still : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, 
long thoughts." 9 



And the burden of that old song, 
It murmurs and whispers still : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, 
long thoughts." 

I remember the black wharves and 
the slips, 
And the sea-tides tossing free ; 20 



feA 




The Longfellow House," Portland, Maine 



I can see the shadowy lines of its trees, 

And catch, in sudden gleams, 
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas, 
And islands that were the Hesperides 
Of all my boyish dreams. 



And Spanish sailors with bearded 

lips, 
And the beauty and mystery of the 

ships, 
And the magic of the sea. 



THE ROPEWALK 



2,39 



And the voice of that wayward 

song 
Is singing and saying still : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, 
long thoughts." 

I remember the bulwarks by the 
shore, 
And the fort upon the hill ; 
The sunrise gun, with its hollow 
roar, 30 

The drumbeat repeated o'er and o'er, 
And the bugle wild and shrill. 
And the music of that old song 
Throbs in my memory still : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, 
long thoughts." 

I remember the sea-fight far away, 
How it thundered o'er the tide! 
And the dead captains, as they lay 
In their graves, o'erlooking the tran- 
quil bay 40 
Where they in battle died. 
And the sound of that mournful 

song 
Goes through me with a thrill : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, 
long thoughts." 

I can see the breezy dome of groves, 
The shadows of Deering's Woods; 
And the friendships old and the early 

loves 
Come back with a Sabbath sound, as 
of doves 
In quiet neighborhoods. 50 

And the verse of that sweet old 

song, 
It flutters and murmurs still : 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, 
long thoughts." 

I remember the gleams and glooms 
that dart 
Across the school-boy's brain ; 
The song and the silence in the heart, 
That in part are prophecies, and in 
part 
Are longings wild and vain. 
And the voice of that fitful song 
Sings on, and is never still : 61 



"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, 
long thoughts." 

There are things of which I may not 
speak ; 
There are dreams that cannot die ; 
There are thoughts that make the 

strong heart weak, 
And bring a pallor into the cheek, 
And a mist before the eye. 
And the words of that fatal song 
Come over me like a chill : 70 

" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, 
long thoughts." 

Strange to me now are the forms I 
meet 
When I visit the dear old town ; 
But the native air is pure and sweet, 
And the trees that o'ershadow each 
well-known street, 
As they balance up and down, 
Are singing the beautiful song, 
Are sighing and whispering still : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, 
long thoughts." 81 

And Deering's Woods are fresh and 
fair, 
And with joy that is almost pain 
My heart goes back to wander there, 
And among the dreams of the days 
that were, 
I find my lost youth again. 
And the strange and beautiful 

song, 
The groves are repeating it still : 
' ' A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, 
long thoughts." 9c 



THE ROPEWALK 

In that building, long and low, 
With its windows all a-row, 

Like the port-holes of a hulk, 
Human spiders spin and spin, 
Backward down their threads so thin 

Dropping, each a hempen bulk. 

At the end, an open door ; 
Squares of sunshine on the floor 



240 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



Light the long and dusky lane ; 
And the whirring of a wheel, 10 

Dull and drowsy, makes me feel 

All its spokes are in my brain. 

As the spinners to the end 
Downward go and reascend, 

Gleairi the long threads in the 
sun; 
While within this brain of mine 
Cobwebs brighter and more fine 

By the busy wheel are spun. 

Two fair maidens in a swing, 

Like white doves upon the wing, 20 

First before my vision pass ; 
Laughing, as their gentle hands 
Closely clasp the twisted strands, 

At their shadow on the grass. 

Then a booth of mountebanks, 
With its smell of tan and planks, 

And a girl poised high in air 
On a cord, in spangled dress. 
With a faded loveliness, 

And a weary look of care. 30 

Then a homestead among farms> 
And a woman with bare arms 

Drawing water from a well ; 
As the bucket mounts apace, 
With it mounts her own fair face, 

As at some magician's spell. 

Then an old man in a tower, 
Ringing loud the noontide hour, 

While the rope coils round and 
round 
Like a serpent at his feet, 40 

And again, in swift retreat, 

Nearly lifts him from the ground. 

Then within a prison -yard, 
Faces fixed, and stern, and hard, 

Laughter and indecent mirth ; 
Ah ! it is the gallows-tree ! 
Breath of Christian charity, 

Blow, and sweep it from the earth ! 

Then a school-boy, with his kite 
Gleaming in a sky of light, 50 

And an eager, upward look ; 
Steeds pursued through lane and 

field; 
Fowlers with their snares concealed ; 

And an angler by a brook. 



Ships rejoicing in the breeze, 
Wrecks that float o'er unknown seas, 

Anchors dragged through faithless 
sand; 
Sea-fog drifting overhead, 
And, with lessening line and lead, 

Sailors feeling for the land. 60 

All these scenes do I behold, 
These, and many left untold, 

In that building long and low ; 
While the wheel goes round and 

round, 
With a drowsy, dreamy sound, 

And the spinners backward go. 



THE GOLDEN MILE-STONE 



Leafless are the trees ; their purple 
branches 

Spread themselves abroad, like reefs 
of coral, 
Rising silent 

In the Red Sea of the winter sun- 
set. 

From the hundred chimneys of the 

village, 
Like the Afreet in the Arabian story, 

Smoky columns 
Tower aloft into the air of amber. 

At the window winks the flickering 

firelight ; 
Here and there the lamps of evening 

glimmer, 10 

Social watch-fires 
Answering one another through the 

darkness. 

On the hearth the lighted logs are 
glowing 

And like Ariel in the cloven pine- 
tree 
For its freedom 

Groans and sighs the air imprisoned 
in them. 

By the fireside there are old men 

seated, 
Seeing ruined cities in the ashes, 

Asking sadly 
Of the Past what it can ne'er restore 

them. 20 



THE GOLDEN MILE-STONE 



241 



By the fireside there are youthful 

dreamers, 
Building castles fair, with stately 

stairways, 
Asking blindly 
Of the Future what it cannot give 

them. 

By the fireside tragedies are acted 
In whose scenes appear two actors 
only, 
Wife and husband, 
And above them God the sole spec- 
tator. 

By the fireside there are peace and 
comfort, 

Wives and children, with fair, thought- 
ful faces, 30 



Waiting, watching 
For a well-known footstep in the pas- 
sage. 

Each man's chimney is his Golden 

t Mile-Stone; 
Is the central point, from which he 
measures 
Every distance 
Through the gateways of the world 
around him. 

In his farthest wanderings still he sees 

it; 
Hears the talking flame, the answering 

night-wind, 

As he heard them 
When he sat with those who were, 

but are not. 40 




Drawing water from a well ' 



242 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



Happy he whom neither wealth nor 


But Catawba wine 


fashion, 


Has a taste more divine, 


Nor the march of the encroaching city, 


More dulcet, delicious, and dreamy. 


Drives an exile 




From the hearth of his ancestral home- 


There grows no vine 


stead. 


By the haunted Rhine, 




By Danube or Guadalquivir, 


"We may build more splendid habita- 


Nor on island or cape, 40 


tions, 


That bears such a grape 


Fill our rooms with paintings, and 


As grows by the Beautiful River. 


with sculptures, 




But we cannot 


Drugged is their juice 


Buy with gold the old associations ! 


For foreign use, 




When shipped o'er the reeling At- 




lantic, 


CATAWBA WINE 


To rack our brains 




With the fever pains, 


This song of mine 


That have driven the Old World frantic. 


Is a Song of the Vine, 




To be sung by the glowing embers 


To the sewers and sinks 


Of wayside inns, 


With all such drinks, 50 


When the rain begins 


And after them tumble the mixer; 


To darken the drear Novembers. 


For a poison malign 




Is such Borgia wine, 


It is not a song 


Or at best but a Devil's Elixir. 


Of the Scuppernong, 




From warm Carolinian valleys, 


While pure as a spring 


Nor the Isabel 10 


Is the wine I sing, 


And the Muscadel 


And to praise it, one needs but name 


That bask in our garden alleys. 


it; 




For Catawba wine 


Nor the red Mustang, 


Has need of no sign, 


Whose clusters hang 


No tavern-bush to proclaim it. 60 


O'er the waves of the Colorado. 




And the fiery flood 


And this Song of the Vine, 


Of whose purple blood 


This greeting of mine, 


Has a dash of Spanish bravado. 


The winds and the birds shall deliver 




To the Queen of the West, 


For richest and best 


In her garlands dressed, 


Is the wine of the West, 20 


On the banks of the Beautiful River. 


That grows by the Beautiful River; 




Whose sweet perfume 




Fills all the room 


SANTA FILOMENA 


With a benison on the giver. 






Whene'er a noble deed is wrought, 


And as hollow trees 


Whene'er is spoken a noble thought, 


Are the haunts of bees, 


Our hearts, in glad surprise, 


Forever going and coming ; 


To higher levels rise. 


So this crystal hive 




Is all alive 


The tidal wave of deeper souls 


With a swarming and buzzing and 


Into our inmost being rolls, 


humming. 30 


And lifts us unawares 




Out of all meaner cares. 


Very good in its way 




Is the Verzenay, 


Honor to those whose words or deeds 


Or the Sillery soft and creamy ; 


Thus help us in our daily needs, 10 



THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE 



243 



And by their overflow 
Raise us from what is low ! 

Thus thought I, as by night I read 
Of the great army of the dead, 
The trenches cold and damp, 
The starved and frozen camp, — 

The wounded from the battle-plain, 
In dreary hospitals of pain, 
- The cheerless corridors, 

The cold and stony floors. 20 

Lo ! in that house of misery 
A lady with a lamp I see 

Pass through the glimmering 
gloom, 

And flit from room to room. 

And slow, as in a dream of bliss, 
The speechless sufferer turns to kiss 
Her shadow, as it falls 
Upon the darkening walls. 

As if a door in heaven should be 
Opened and then closed suddenly, 30 
The vision came and went, 
The light shone and was spent. 

On England's annals, through the long 
Hereafter of her speech and song, 
That light its rays shall cast 
From portals of the past. 

A Lady with a Lamp shall stand 
In the great history of the land, 

A noble type of good, 

Heroic womanhood. 40 

Nor even shall be wanting here 
The palm, the lily, and the spear, 

The symbols that of yore 

Saint Filomena bore. 



THE DISCOVERER OF THE 
NORTH CAPE 

A LEAF FROM KENO ALFRED'S OROSIUS 

Othere, the old sea-captain, 

Who dwelt in Helgoland, 
To King Alfred, the Lover of Truth, 
Brought a snow-white walrus-tooth, 

Which he held in his brown right 
hand. 



His figure was tall and stately, 

Like a boy's his eye appeared ; 
His hair was yellow as hay, 
But threads of a silvery gray 
Gleamed in his tawny beard. 10 

Hearty and hale was Othere, 
His cheek had the color of oak ; 

With a kind of a laugh in his 
speech, 

Like the sea-tide on a beach, 
As unto the King he spoke. 

And Alfred, King of the Saxons, 
Had a book upon his knees, 

And wrote down the wondrous tale 

Of him who was first to sail 
Into the Arctic seas. 20 

" So far I live to the northward, 

No man lives north of me ,• 
To the east are wild mountain-chains, 
And beyond them meres and plains ; 
To the westward all is sea. 

" So far I live to the northward, 

From the harbor of Skeringes-hale, 
If you only sailed by day, 
With a fair wind all the way, 

More than a month would you 
sail. 30 

" I own six hundred reindeer, 

With sheep and swine beside ; 
I have tribute from the Finns, 
Whalebone and reindeer-skins, 
And ropes of walrus-hide. 

" I ploughed the land with horses, 
But my heart was ill at ease, 

For the old seafaring men 

Came to me now'and then, 
With their sagas of the seas ; — 40 

" Of Iceland and of Greenland, 

And the stormy Hebrides, 
And the undiscovered deep ; — 
Oh I could not eat nor sleep 

For thinking of those seas. 

" To the northward stretched the des- 
ert, 

How far I fain would know ; 
So at last I sallied forth, 
And three days sailed due north, 

As far as the whale-ships go. 50 



244 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



1 ' To the west of me was the ocean, 

To the right the desolate shore, 
But I did not slacken sail 
For the walrus or the whale, 
Till after three days more. 

" The days grew longer and longer, 

Till they became as one, 
And northward through the haze 
I saw the sullen blaze 

Of the red midnight sun. 60 

"And then uprose before me, 

Upon the water's edge, 
The huge and haggard shape 
Of that unknown North Cape, 

Whose form is like a wedge. 

"The sea was rough and stormy, 
The tempest howled and wailed, 

And the sea-fog, like a ghost, 

Haunted that dreary coast, 
But onward still I sailed. 70 

" Four days I steered to eastward, 

Four days without a night : 
Round in a fiery ring 
Went the great sun, O King, 
With red and lurid light." 

Here Alfred, King of the Saxons, 

Ceased writing for a while ; 
And raised his eyes from his book, 
With a strange and puzzled look, 
And an incredulous smile. 80 

But Othere, the old sea-captain, 
He neither paused nor stirred, 

Till the King listened, and then 

Once more took up his pen, 
And wrote down every word. 

"And now the land," said Othere, 
"Bent southward suddenly, 

And I followed the curving shore 

And ever southward bore 

Into a nameless sea. 90 

" And there we hunted the walrus, 
The narwhale, and the seal ; 

Ha ! 't was a noble game ! 

And like the lightning's flame 
Flew our harpoons of steel. 

' * There were six of us all together, 
Norsemen of Helgoland ; 



In two days and no more 
We killed of them threescore, 99 

And dragged them to the strand ! " 

Here Alfred the Truth-teller 

Suddenly closed his book, 
And lifted his blue eyes, 
With doubt and strange surmise 

Depicted in their look. 

And Othere the old sea-captain 
Stared at him wild and weird, 
Then smiled, till his shining teeth 
Gleamed white from underneath 
His tawny, quivering beard. no 

And to the King of the Saxons, 

In witness of the truth, 
Raising his noble head, 
He stretched his brown hand, and 
said, 

"Behold this walrus- tooth ! " 



DAYBREAK 

A westd came up out of the sea, 
And said, "O mists, make room for 
me." 

It hailed the ships, and cried, * ' Sail 

on, 
Ye mariners, the night is gone." 

And hurried landward far away, 
Crying, " Awake! it is the day." 

It said unto the forest, " Shout! 
Hang all your leafy banners out ! " 

It touched the wood-bird's folded 

wing, 
And said, " O bird, awake and sing." 

And o'er the farms, " O chanticleer, 
Your clarion blow ; the day is near." 

It whispered to the fields of corn, 
"Bow down, and hail the coming 
morn." 

It shouted through the belfry-tower, 
" Awake, O bell! proclaim the hour." 

It crossed the churchyard with a sigh, 
And said, "Not yet! in quiet lie." 



THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY OF AGASSIZ 245 




" Sail on, 
Ye mariners, the night is gone " 



THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY OF 
AGASSIZ 

May 28, 1857. 

It was fifty years ago 

In the pleasant month of May, 
In the beautiful Pays de-Vaud, 

A child in its cradle lay. 

And Nature, the old nurse, took 
The child upon her knee, 

Saying : ' ' Here is a story-book 
Thy Father has written for thee." 

''■ Come, wander with me," she said, 
" Into regions yet untrod ; 
And read what is still unread 
In the manuscripts of God." 

And he wandered away and away 
With Nature, the dear old nurse, 



Who sang to him night and day 
The rhymes of the universe. 

And whenever the way seemed long, 

Or his heart began to fail, 
She would sing a more wonderful 
song, 

Or tell a more marvellous tale. 

So she keeps him still a child, 

And will not let him go, 
Though at times his heart beats wild 

For the beautiful Pays de Vaud ; 

Though at times he hears in his dreams 
The Ranz des Vaches of old, 

And the rush of mountain streams 
From glaciers clear and cold ; 

And the mother at home says, " Hark! 

For his voice I listen and yearn ; 
It is growing late and dark, 

And my boy does not return ! " 



246 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



CHILDREN 

Come to me, O ye children ! 

For I hear you at your play, 
Arid the questions that perplexed me 

Have vanished quite away. 

Ye open the eastern windows, 
That look towards the sun, 

Where thoughts are singing swallows 
And the brooks of morning run. 

In your hearts are the birds and the 
sunshine, 

In your thoughts the brooklet's flow, 
But in mine is the wind of Autumn 

And the first fall of the snow. 

Ah ! what would the world be to us 
If the children were no more ? 

We should dread the desert behind us 
Worse than the dark before. 

What the leaves are to the forest, 
With light and air for food, 

Ere their sweet and tender juices 
Have been hardened into wood, — 

That to the world are children ; 

Through them it feels the glow 
Of a brighter and sunnier climate 

Than reaches the trunks below. 

Come to me, O ye children ! 

And whisper in my ear 
What the birds and the winds are 
singing 

In your sunny atmosphere. 

For what are all our contrivings, 
And the wisdom of our books, 

When compared with your caresses, 
And the gladness of your looks ? 

Ye are better than all the ballads 
That ever were sung or said ; 

For ye are living poems, 
And all the rest are dead. 



SANDALPHON 

Have you read in the Talmud of 

old, 
In the Legends the Rabbins have told 
Of the limitless realms of the air, 



Have you read it, — the marvellous 

story 
Of Sandalphon, the Angel of Glory, 
Sandalphon, the Angel of Prayer ? 

How, erect, at the outermost gates 
Of the City Celestial he waits, 

With his feet on the ladder of light, 
That, crowded with angels unnum- 
bered, 10 
By Jacob was seen, as he slumbered 

Alone in the desert at night ? 

The Angels of Wind and of Fire 
Chant only one hymn, and expire 

With the song's irresistible stress ; 
Expire in their rapture and wonder, 
As harp- strings are broken asunder 

By music they throb to express. 

But serene in the rapturous throng, 
Unmoved by the rush of the song, 20 
With eyes unimpassioned and slow, 
Among the dead angels, the death- 
less 
Sandalphon stands listening breathless 
To sounds that ascend from be- 
low ; — 

From the spirits on earth that adorej 
From the souls that entreat and im- 
plore 
In the fervor and passion of prayer ; 
From the hearts that are broken with 

losses, 
And weary with dragging the crosses 
Too heavy for mortals to bear. 30 

And he gathers the prayers as he 
stands, 

And they change into flowers in his 
hands, 
Into garlands of purple and red ; 

And beneath the great arch of the por- 
tal, 

Through the streets of the City Im- 
mortal 
Is wafted the fragrance they shed. 

It is but a legend, I know, — 
A fable, a phantom, a show, 

Of the ancient Rabbinical lore ; 
Yet the old mediaeval tradition, 40 
The beautiful, strange superstition, 

But haunts me and holds me the 
more. 



THE CHILDREN'S HOUR 



247 




They are plotting and planning together ; 



When I look from my window at 

night, 
And the welkin above is all white, 
All throbbing and panting with 
stars, 
Among them majestic is standing 
Sandalphon the angel, expanding 
His pinions in nebulous bars. 

And the legend, I feel, is a part 
Of the hunger and thirst of the heart, 
The frenzy and fire of the brain, 51 



That grasps at the fruitage forbidden, 
The golden pomegranates of Eden, 
To quiet its fever and pain. 



FLIGHT THE SECOND 

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR 

Between the dark and the daylight, 
When the night is beginning to 
lower, 



248 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



Comes a pause in the day's occupa- 
tions, 
That is known as the Children's 
Hour. 

I hear in the chamber above me 

The patter of little feet, 
The sound of a door that is opened, 

And voices soft and sweet. 

From my study I see in the lamplight, 
Descending the broad hall stair, 

Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, 
And Edith with golden hair. 

A whisper, and then a silence : 
Yet I know by their merry eyes 

They are plotting and planning to- 
gether 
To take me by surprise. 

A sudden rush from the stairway, 
A sudden raid from the hall ! 

By three doors left unguarded 
They enter my castle wall ! 

They climb up into my turret 

O'er the arms and back of my chair 

If I try to escape, they surround me 
They seem to be everywhere. 

They almost devour me with kisses, 
Their arms about me entwine, 

Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen 
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine ! 

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, 
Because you have scaled the wall, 

Such an old mustache as I am 
Is not a match for you all ! 

I have you fast in my fortress, 
And will not let you depart, 

But put you down into the dungeon 
In the round-tower of my heart. 

And there will I keep you forever, 

Yes, forever and a day, 
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, 

And moulder in dust away ! 



ENCELADUS 

Under Mount Etna he lies, 
It is slumber, it is not death ; 



For he struggles at times to arise, 
And above him the lurid skies 
Are hot with his fiery breath. 

The crags are piled on his breast, 

The earth is heaped on his head ; 
But the groans of his wild unrest, 
Though smothered and half sup- 
pressed, 
Are heard, and he is not dead. 

And the nations far away 

Are watching with eager eyes ; 
They talk together and say, 
"To-morrow, perhaps to-day, 
Enceladus will arise ! ** 

And the old gods, the austere 
Oppressors in their strength. 
Stand aghast and white with fear 
At the ominous sounds they hear, 
And tremble, and mutter, ' ' At 
length ! " 

Ah me! for the laud that is sown 

With the harvest of despair ! 
Where the burning cinders, blown 
From the lips of the overthrown 
Enceladus, fill the air ; 

Where ashes are heaped in drifts 

Over vineyard and field and town, 
Whenever he starts and lifts 
His head through the blackened rifts 
Of the crags that keep him down. 

See, see! the red light shines! 

"T is the glare of his awful eyes ! 
And the storm-wind shouts through 

the pines 
Of Alps and of Apennines 

' ' Enceladus, arise ! " 



THE CUMBERLAND 

At anchor in Hampton Roads we 
lay, 
On board of the Cumberland, sloop- 
of-war ; 
And at times from the fortress across 
the bay 
The alarum of drums swept past, 
Or a bugle blast 
From the camp on the shore. 



A DAY OF SUNSHINE 



249 



Then far away to the south uprose 
A little feather of snow - white 
smoke, 
And we knew that the iron ship of our 
foes 
Was steadily steering its course 10 
To try the force 
Of our ribs of oak. 

Down upon us heavily runs, 

Silent and sullen, the floating fort ; 
Then conies a puff of smoke from her 
guns, 
And leaps the terrible death, 
With fiery breath, 
From each open port. 

We are not idle, but send her straight 
Defiance back in a full broadside ! 20 
As hail rebounds from a roof of slate, 
Rebounds our heavier hail 
From each iron scale 
Of the monster's hide. 

" Strike your flag ! " the rebel cries, 

In his arrogant old plantation strain. 

" Never! " our gallant Morris replies; 

"It is better to sink than to 

yield!" 
And the whole air pealed 
With the cheers of our men. 30 

Then, like a kraken huge and black, 
She crushed our ribs in her iron 
grasp ! 
Down went the Cumberland all a 
wrack, 
With a sudden shudder of death, 
And the cannon's breath 
For her dying gasp. 

Next morn, as the sun rose over the 
bay, 
Still floated our flag at the main- 
mast head. 
Lord, how beautiful was Thy day ! 
Every waft of the air 40 

Was a whisper of prayer, 
Or a dirge for the dead. 

Ho ! brave hearts that went down in 

the seas ! 
Ye are at peace in the troubled 

stream ; , 

Ho ! brave land ! with hearts like 

these, 



Thy flag, that is rent in twain, 
Shall be one again, 
And without a seam ! 



SNOW-FLAKES 

Out of the bosom of the Air, 
Out of the cloud-folds of her gar- 
ments shaken, 
Over the woodlands brown and bare, 
Over the harvest-fields forsaken, 
Silent, and soft, and slow 
Descends the snow. 

Even as our cloudy fancies take 
Suddenly shape in some divine ex- 
pression, 
Even as the troubled heart doth make 
In the white countenance confes- 
sion, 
The troubled sky reveals 
The grief it feels. 

This is the poem of the air, 

Slowly in silent syllables recorded ; 
This is the secret of despair, 
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded, 
Now whispered and revealed 
To wood and field. 



A DAY OF SUNSHINE 

Gift of God ! O perfect day : 
Whereon shall no man work, but 

play ; 
Whereon it is enough for me, 
Not to be doing, but to be ! 

Through every fibre of my brain, 
Through every nerve, through every 
vein, 

1 feel the electric thrill, the touch 
Of life, that seems almost too much. 

I hear the wind among the trees 
Playing celestial symphonies ; 
I see the branches downward bent, 
Like keys of some great instrument. 

And over me unrolls on high 
The splendid scenery of the sky, 
Where through a sapphire sea the 

sun 
Sails like a golden galleon, 



250 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



Towards yonder cloud-land in the 

West, 
Towards yonder Islands of the Blest, 
Whose steep sierra far uplifts 
Its craggy summits white with drifts. 

Blow, winds! and waft through all 

the rooms 
The snow-flakes of the cherry -blooms! 
Blow, winds! and bend within my 

reach 
The fiery blossoms of the peach ! 

O Life and Love ! O happy throng 
Of thoughts, whose only speech is 

song! 
O heart of man ! canst thou not be 
Blithe as the air is, and as free? 



SOMETHING LEFT UNDONE 

Labor with what zeal we will, 
Something still remains undone, 

Something uncompleted still 
Waits the rising of the sun. 

By the bedside, on the stair, 
At the threshold, near the gates, 

With its menace or its prayer, 
Like a mendicant it waits ; 

Waits, and will not go away ; 

Waits, and will not be gainsaid ; 
By the cares of yesterday 

Each to-day is heavier made ; 

Till at length the burden seems 

Greater than our strength can bear 

Heavy as the weight of dreams, 
Pressing on us everywhere. 



And we stand from day to day, 
Like the dwarfs of times gone by 

Who, as Northern legends say, 
On their shoulders held the sky. 



WEARINESS 

O little feet ! that such long years 
Must wander on through hopes and 
fears, 
Must ache and bleed beneath your 
load ; 
I, nearer to the wayside inn 
Where toil shall cease and rest be- 
gin, 
Am weary, thinking of your road ! 

O little hands! that, weak or strong, 
Have still to serve or rule so long, 

Have still so long to give or ask ; 
I, who so much with book and pen 
Have toiled among my fellow -men, 

Am weary, thinking of your task 

O little hearts ! that throb and beat 
With such impatient, feverish heat, 

Such limitless and strong desires ; 
Mine, that so long has glowed and 

burned, 
With passions into ashes turned, 

Now covers and conceals its fires. 

O little souls ! as pure and white 
And crystalline as rays of light 

Direct from heaven, their source 
divine ; 
Refracted through the mist of years, 
How red my setting sun appears, 

How lurid looks this soui of mine! 




The Wayside Inn 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



PAET FIRST 
PRELUDE 

THE WAYSIDE INN 

One Autumn night, in Sudbury town, 
Across the meadows bare and brown, 
The windows of the wayside inn 
Gleamed red with fire-light through 

the leaves 
Of woodbine, hanging from the eaves 
Their crimson curtains rent and thin. 

As ancient is this hostelry 

As any in the land may be, 

Built in the old Colonial day, 

When men lived in a grander way, 10 

With ampler hospitality ; 

A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall, 



Now somewhat fallen to decay, 
With weather- stains upon the wall, 
And stairways worn, and crazy doors, 
And creaking and uneven floors, 
And chimneys huge, and tiled and 
tall. 

A region of repose it seems, 
A place of slumber and of dreams, 
Remote among the wooded hills ! 20 
For there no noisy railway speeds, 
Its torch -race scattering smoke and 

gleeds ; 
But noon and night, the panting 

teams 
Stop under the great oaks, that throw 
Tangles of light and shade below, 
On roofs and doors and window-sills. 
Across the road the barns display 
Their lines of stalls, their mows of hay, 



252 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Through the wide doors the breezes 

blow, 
The wattled cocks strut to and fro, 30 
And, half effaced by rain and shine, 
The Red Horse prances on the sign. 
Hound this old-fashioned, quaint 

abode 
Deep silence reigned, save when a 

gust 
Went rushing down the county road, 
And skeletons of leaves, and dust, 
A moment quickened by its breath, 
Shuddered and danced their dance of 

death, 
And through the ancient oaks o'erhead 
Mysterious voices moaned and. fled. 40 

But from the parlor of the inn 
A pleasant murmur smote the ear, 
Like water rushing through a weir : 
Oft interrupted by the din 
Of laughter and of loud applause, 
And, in each intervening pause, 
The music of a violin. 
The fire-light, shedding over all 
The splendor of its ruddy glow, 
Filled the whole parlor large and low ; 
It gleamed on wainscot and on wall, 51 
It touched with more than wonted 

grace 
Fair Princess Mary's pictured face ; 
It bronzed the rafters overhead, 
On the old spinet's ivory keys 
It played inaudible melodies, 
It crowned the sombre clock with 

flame, 
The hands, the hours, the maker's 

name, 
And painted with a livelier red 
The Landlord's coat-of-arms again ; 60 
And, flashing on the window-pane, 
Emblazoned with its light and shade 
The jovial rhymes, that still remain, 
Writ near a century ago, 
By the great Major Molineaux, 
Whom Hawthorne has immortal made. 

Before the blazing fire of wood 
Erect the rapt musician stood ; 
And ever and anon he bent 
His head upon his instrument, 70 

And seemed to listen, till he caught 
Confessions of its secret thought, — 
The joy, the triumph, the lament, 
The exultation and the pain ; 
Then, by the magic of his art, 



He soothed the throbbings of its heart, 
And lulled it into peace again. 

Around the fireside at their ease 
There sat a group of friends, entranced 
With the delicious melodies ; 80 

Who from the far-off noisy town 
Had to the wayside inn come down, 
To rest beneath its old oak trees. 
The fire-light on their faces glanced, 
Their shadows on the wainscot danced, 
And, though of different lands and 

speech, 
Each had his tale to tell, and each 
Was anxious to be pleased and please. 
And while the sweet musician plays, 
Let me in outline sketch them all, 90 
Perchance uncouth] y as the blaze 
With its uncertain touch portrays 
Their shadowy semblance on the wall. 

But first the Landlord will I trace; 
Grave in his aspect and attire ; 
A man of ancient pedigree, 
A Justice of the Peace was he, 
Known in all Sudbury as "The 

Squire." 
Proud was he of his name and race, 
Of old Sir William and Sir Hugh, 100 
And in the parlor, full in view, 
His coat-of-arms, well framed and 

glazed, 
Upon the wall in colors blazed ; 
He beareth gules upon his shield, 
A chevron argent in the field, 
With three wolf's-heads, and for the 

crest 
A Wyvern part-per-pale addressed 
Upon a helmet barred ; below 
The scroll reads, "By the name of 

Howe." 
And over this, no longer bright, no 
Though glimmering with a latent light, 
Was hung the sword his grandsire bore 
In the rebellious days of yore, 
Down there at Concord in the fight. 

A youth was there, of quiet ways, 
A Student of old books and days, 
To whom all tongues and lands were 

known, 
And yet a lover of his own ; 
With many a social virtue graced, 
And yet a friend of solitude ; 120 

A man of such a genial mood 
The heart of all things he embraced, 



THE WAYSIDE INN 



253 



And yet of such fastidious taste, 
He never found the best too good. 
Books were his passion and delight, 
And in his upper room at home 
Stood many a rare and sumptuous 

tome, 
In vellum bound, with gold bedight, 
Great volumes garmented in white, 
Recalling Florence, Pisa, Rome. 130 
He loved the twilight that surrounds 
The border-land of old romance ; 
Where glitter hauberk, helm, and 

lance, 
And banner waves, and trumpet 

sounds, 
And ladies ride with hawk on wrist, 
And mighty warriors sweep along, 
Magnified by the purple mist, 
The dusk of centuries and of song. 
The chronicles of Charlemagne, 
Of Merlin and the Mort d'Arthure, 140 



Mingled together in his brain 

With tales of Flores and Blanchefleur, 

Sir Ferumbras, Sir Eglamour, 

Sir Launcelot, Sir Morgadour, 

Sir Guy, Sir Bevis, Sir Gawain. 

A young Sicilian, too, was there ; 

In sight of Etna born and bred, 

Some breath of its volcanic air 

Was glowing in his heart and brain, 

And, being rebellious to his liege, 150 

After Palermo's fatal siege, 

Across the western seas he fled, 

In good King Bomba's happy reign. 

His face was like a summer night, 

All flooded with a dusky light ; 

His hands were small ; his teeth shone 

white 
As sea-shells, when he smiled or spoke ; 
His sinews supple and strong as 

oak ; 




There sat a group of friends, entranced 
With the delicious melodies " 



2 54 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Clean shaven was he as a priest, 
Who at the mass on Sunday sings, 160 
Save that upon his upper lip 
His beard, a good palm's length at 

least, 
Level and pointed at the tip, 
Shot sideways, like a swallow's wings. 
The poets read he o'er and o'er, 
And most of all the Immortal Four 
Of Italy ; and next to those 
The story-telling bard of prose, 
Who wrote the joyous Tuscan tales 
Of the Decameron, that make 170 

Fiesole's green hills and vales 
Remembered for Boccaccio's sake. 
Much too of music was his thought ; 
The melodies and measures fraught 
With sunshine and the open air, 
Of vineyards and the singing sea 
Of his beloved Sicily ; 
And much it pleased him to peruse 
The songs of the Sicilian muse, — 
Bucolic songs by Meli sung 180 

In the familiar peasant tongue, 
That made men say, "Behold! once 

more 
The pitying gods to earth restore 
Theocritus of Syracuse ! " 

A Spanish Jew from Alicant 

With aspect grand and grave was 

there ; 
Vender of silks and fabrics rare, 
And attar of rose from the Levant. 
Like an old Patriarch he appeared, 
Abraham or Isaac, or at least 190 

Some later Prophet or High-Priest ; 
With lustrous eyes, and olive skin, 
And, wildly tossed from cheeks and 

chin, 
The tumbling cataract of his beard. 
His garments breathed a spicy scent 
Of cinnamon and sandal blent, 
Like the soft aromatic gales 
That meet the mariner, who sails 
Through the Moluccas, and the seas 
That wash the shores of Celebes. 200 
All stories that recorded are 
By Pierre Alphonse he knew by 

heart, 
And it was rumored he could say 
The Parables of Sandabar, 
And all the Fables of Pilpay, 
Or if not all, the greater part ! 
Well versed was he in Hebrew books, 
Talmud and Targum, and the lore 



Of Kabala ; and evermore 

There was a mystery in his looks ; 210 

His eyes seemed gazing far away, 

As if in vision or in trance 

He heard the solemn sackbut play, 

And saw the Jewish maidens dance. 

A Theologian, from the school 

Of Cambridge on the Charles, was 

there 
Skilful alike with tongue and pen, 
He preached to all men everywhere 
The Gospel of the Golden Rule, 
The New Commandment given to 

men, 220 

Thinking the deed, and not the creed, 
Would help us in our utmost need. 
With reverent feet the earth he trod, 
Nor banished nature from his plan, 
But studied still with deep research 
To build the Universal Church, 
Lofty as is the love of God, 
And ample as the wants of man. 

A Poet, too, was there, whose verse 
Was tender, musical, and terse ; 230 
The inspiration, the delight, 
The gleam, the glory, the swift 

flight 
Of thoughts so sudden, that they 

seem 
The revelations of a dream, 
All these were his; but with them 

came 
No envy of another's fame; 
He did not find his sleep less sweet 
For music in some neighboring street, 
Nor rustling hear in every breeze 
The laurels of Miltiades. 240 

Honor and blessings on his head 
While living, good report when dead, 
Who, not too eager for renown, 
Accepts, but does not clutch, the 



Last the Musician, as he stood 

Illumined by that fire of wood ; 

Fair -haired, blue -eyed, his aspect 

blithe, 
His figure tall and straight and lithe, 
And every feature of his face 
Revealing his Norwegian race ; 250 
A radiance, streaming from within, 
Around his eyes and forehead beamed, 
The Angel with the violin, 
Painted by Raphael, he seemed. 



THE LANDLORD'S TALE 



2 55 



He lived in that ideal world 

Whose language is not speech, but 

song; 
Around him evermore the throng 
Of elves and sprites their dances 

whirled ; 
The Stromkarl sang, the cataract 

hurled 
Its headlong waters from the height ; 
•And mingled in the wild delight 261 
The scream of sea-birds in their flight, 
The rumor of the forest trees, 
The plunge of the implacable seas, 
The tumult of the wind at night, 
Voices of eld, like trumpets blow- 
ing. 
Old ballads, and wild melodies 
Through mist and darkness pouring 

forth, 
Like Elivagar's river flowing 
Out of the glaciers of the North. 270 

The instrument on which he played 

Was in Cremona's workshops made, 

By a great master of the past, 

Ere yet was lost the art divine ; 

Fashioned of maple and of pine, 

That in Tyrolean forests vast 

Had rocked and wrestled with the 

bl st : 
17 was it in design, 

feet in each minutest part, 

el of the lutist's art ; 280 

.nd in its hollow chamber, thus, 

er from whose hands it came 
bis unrivalled name, — 
divarius." 

Aud when he played, the atmosphere 
Wa' i >ic, and the ear 

Caudii ' t Harp of Gold, 

Whose mui weird a sound, 

The it to bound, 

The leaping riv* ~kward rolled, 

The birds can. rom bush and 

291 
Tl.'e ^aththesea, 

The maidc sknee! 

The music ceased ; lause was 

loud, 
The pit. ised u led and 

bowed ; ' 

ood-fire < hands of 

flame, 
V- iie shadows on the wain 1, 



And from the harpsichord there came 
A ghostly murmur of acclaim, 
A sound like that sent down at night 
By birds of passage in their flight, 301 
From the remotest distance heard. 

Then silence followed ; then began 
A clamor for the Landlord's tale, — 
The story promised them of old, 
They said, but always left untold ; 
And he, although a bashful man, 
And all his courage seemed to fail, 
Finding excuse of no avail, 
Yielded ; and thus the story ran. 310 



THE LANDLORDS TALE 

PAUL REVERE's RIDE 

Listen, my children, and you shall 
hear 

Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, 

On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy- 
five; 

Hardly a man is now alive 

Who remembers that famous day and 
year. 

He said to his friend, "If the British 

march 
By land or sea from the town to- 
night, 
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry 

arch 
Of the North Church tower as a signal 

light, — 
One, if by land, and two, if by sea; 10 
And I on "the opposite shore will be, 
Ready to ride and spread the alarm 
Through every Middlesex village and 

farm, 
For the country folk to be up and to 
arm." 

Then he said, ' ' Good-night ! " and 

with muffled oar 
Silently rowed to the Charlestown 

shore, 
Just as the moon rose over the bay, 
Where swinging wide at her moorings 

lay 
The Somerset, British man-of-war ; 
A phantom ship, with each mast and 

spar 20 

Across the moon like a prison bar, 



256 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



And a huge black hulk, that was mag- 
nified 
By its own reflection in the tide. 

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley 

and street, 
Wanders and watches with eager ears, 



Then he climbed the tower of the Old 

North Church, 
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy 

tread, 
To the belfry -chamber overhead, 
And startled the pigeons from their 

perch 




A second lamp in the belfry burns 



Till in the silence around him he hears 
The muster of men at the barrack door, 
The sound of arms, and the tramp of 

feet, 
And the measured tread of the grena- 
diers, 
Marching down to their boats on the 
shore. 30 



On the sombre rafters, that round 

him made 
Masses and moving shapes of 

shade, — 
By the trembling ladaer, steep and 

tall, 
To the highest window in the 

wall, 



E LANDLORD'S TALE 



257 



1 he paused to listen and look 

i lent on ..... roofs o! the iowu, 4 o 

And the moo - Sowfog over all 

Beneath, in the oihurchyi 

dead, 
In their nig campment on the 

hill, 
Wrapped in s ; still 

That he coul rind's 

tread, 
The watchful d . went 

Creeping aloi t tent to tent, 

And seemin: rhisper "All is 

well ! ' ; 
A moment on he spell 

Of the place 

cret dr 50 

Of the lonely belfry and the dead; . 
For suddenly , 

On a shadow way, 

Where the r widens to meet the 

bay, - 
A line of bla< and floats 

On the risir Hge of 

boats. 

Meanwhile, impatient to mount 

ride, 
Booted and scarred, with a heavy 

stride 
On the opposite shore walked Pad 

Rever 
Now he patlea his 1> So 

Now gazed at the landscape far nd 

near, 
Then, impet : the eavdi, 

And turned 

girth 
But mostly 

searc 
The belfrj 

Chur 
As it rose -ives on the 

hill, 
Lonely anc 

still. 
And lo 1 ai 

heig 
A glimmer 
He spring? r die he 

turn 70 

But linger on his 

sigh 
A second 1: nip in *be belfry X" 



A hurry of hoofs in a village street, 
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in 

the dark, 
And beneath, from the pebbles, in 
spark 

a 
fleet: 

The fate 

ut ; 
And tl -k out bj 

steed, in his fli 

me with its 
) heat. 

; ' ■ 

the steep, 
And 1. m, tranquil and broad 

and deep, 

Mystic, meeting che ocean tides; 
And in aiders that skirt its 

Now soft on the sand, now loud on the 

? e, 
Is hefjrd the tramp of his steed $s he 
rides. 

E was twelve by the village c;- 
When he crossed vim bridge 

ford town, 
lie heard the crowing of the cock. 
And the barking of the fanner' 
it the damp of the 1 
1 ises after 1 the sun g< ■ ' 

a one by the village 1 
ped into L< 

■ 1 weathercock 
■ 
And £ 

bl< 
Gaze at hi- 

up 

by the vill 
When h ?arne to 

tr< 
And felt the br ruing 

own. 



25 8 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



A.nd one was safe and asleep in his 

bed 
Who at the bridge would be first to 

fall, 
Who that day would be lying dead, 
Pierced by a British musket-ball, no 

You know the rest. In the books you 
have read, 

How the British Regulars fired and 
fled,— 

Ho .v the farmers gave them ball for 
ball, 

From behind each fence and farm- 
yard wall, 

Chasing the red-coats down the lane, 

Then crossing the fields to emerge 
again 

Under the trees at the turn of the 
road, • • 

And only pausing to fire and load. 

So through the night rode Paul Re- 
vere ; 

And so through the night went his cry 
of alarm 120 

To every Middlesex village and 
farm, — 



A cry of defiance and not of fear, 

A voice in the darkness, a knock at 

the door, 
And a word that shall echo forever- 
more! 
For, borne on the night-wind of the 

Past, 
Through all our history, to the last, 
In the hour of darkness and peril and 

need, 
The people will waken and listen to 

hear 
The hurrying hoof -beats of that steed, 
And the midnight message of Paul 
Revere. 130 



INTERLUDE 

The Landlord ended thus his tale, 
Then rising took down from its nail 
The sword that hung there, dim with 

dust, 
And cleaving to its sheath with rust, 
And said, ' ' This sword was in the 

fight." 
The Poet seized it, and exclaimed, 
" It is the sword of a good knight, 




I And yet, through the gloom and the light, 
The fate of a nation was riding that night ! 



THE STUDENT'S TALE 



259 



Though homespun was his coat-of- 

mail; 
What matter if it be not named 
Joyeuse, Colada, Durindale, 10 

Excalibar, or Aroundight, 
Or other name the books record ? 
Your ancestor, who bore this sword 
As Colonel of the Volunteers, 
Mounted upon his old gray mare, 
Seen here and there and everywhere, 
To me a grander shape appears 
Than old Sir William, or what not, 
Clinking about in foreign lands 
With iron gauntlets onhis hands, 20 
And on hisliead an iron pot ! " 

All laughed ; the Landlord's face grew 

red 
As his escutcheon on the wall ; 
He could not.comprehend at all 
The drift of what the Poet said ; 
For those who had been longest dead 
Were always greatest in his eyes ; 
And he was speechless with surprise 
To see Sir William's plumed head 
Brought to a level with the rest, 30 
And made the subject of a jest. 
And this perceiving, to appease 
The Landlord's wrath, the others' 

fears, 
The Student said, with careless ease, 
"The ladies and the cavaliers, 
The arms, the loves, the courtesies, 
The deeds of high emprise, I sing ! 
Thus Ariosto says, in words 
That have the stately stride and ring 
Of arm6d knights and clashing 

swords. 40 

Now listen to the tale I bring-; 
Listen ! though not to me belong 
The flowing draperies of his song, 
The words that rouse, the voice that 

charms. 
The Landlord's tale was one of arms, 
Only a tale of love is mine. 
Blending the human and divine, 
A tale of the Decameron, told 
In Palmieri's garden old, 
By Fiametta, laurel-crowned, 50 

While her companions lay around, 
And heard the intermingled sound 
Of airs that on their errands sped, 
And wild birds gossiping overhead, 
And lisp of leaves, and fountain's fall, 
And her own voice more sweet than 

all, 



Telling the tale, which, wanting 
these, 
mce ma 
please." 



_> — »■ 
these, 
Perchance may lose its power to 



THE STUDENT'S TALE 

THE FALCON OF SER FEDERIGO 

One summer morning, when the sun 

was hot, 
Weary with labor in his garden-plot, 
On a rude bench beneath his cottage 

eaves, 
Ser Federigo sat among the leaves 
Of a huge vine, that, with its arms 

outspread, 
Hung its delicious clusters overhead. 
Below him, through the lovely valley, 

flowed 
The river Arno, like a winding road, 
And from its banks were lifted high 

in air 

The spires and roofs of Florence called 

the Fair ; 10 

To him a marble tomb, that rose above 

His wasted fortunes and his buried 

love. 
For there, in banquet and in tourna- 
ment, 
His wealth had lavished been, his sub- 
stance spent, 
To woo and lose, since ill his wooing 

sped, 
Monna Giovanna, who his rival wed, 
Yet ever in his fancy reigned supreme, 
The ideal woman of a young man's 
dream. 

Then he withdrew, in poverty and 
pain, 

To this small farm, the last of his do- 
main, 20 

His only comfort and his only care 

To prune his vines, and plant the fig 
and pear ; 

His only forester and only guest 

His falcon, faithful to him, when the 
rest, 

Whose willing hands had found so 
light of yore 

The brazen knocker of his palace door, 

Had now no strength to lift the wood- 
en latch, 

That entrance gave beneath a roof of 
thatch. 



260 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Companion of his solitary ways, 
Purveyor of his feasts on holidays, 30 
On him this melancholy man bestowed 
The love with which his nature over- 
flowed. 

And so the empty-handed years went 
round, 

Vacant, though voiceful with pro- 
phetic sound, 

And so, that summer morn, he sat and 
mused 

With folded, patient hands, as he was 
used, 

And dreamily before his half-closed 
sight 

Floated the vision of his lost delight. 

Beside him, motionless, the drowsy 
bird 

Dreamed of the chase, and in his slum- 
ber heard 40 

The sudden, scythe-like sweep of 
wings, that dare 

The headlong plunge through eddy- 
ing gulfs of air, 

Then, starting broad awake upon his 
perch, 

Tinkled his bells, like mass-bells in a 
church, 

And looking at his master, seemed to 
say, 

" Ser Federigo, shall we hunt to- 
day?" 

Ser Federigo thought not of the chase ; 
The tender vision of her lovely face, 
I will not say he seems to see, he sees 
In the leaf-shadows of the trellises, 50 
Herself, yet not herself ; a lovely child 
With flowing tresses, and eyes wide 

and wild, 
Coming undaunted up the garden 

walk, 
And looking not at him, but at the 

hawk. 
" Beautiful falcon! " said he, ; ' would 

that I 
Might hold thee on my wrist, or see 

thee fly ! " 
The voice was hers, and made strange 

echoes start 
Through all the haunted chambers of 

his heart, 
As anaeolian harp through gusty doors 
Of some old ruin its wild music 

pours. 60 



" Who is thy mother, my fair boy ? " 
he said, 

His hand laid softly on that shining 
head. 

' ' Monna Giovanna. Will you let me 
stay 

A little while, and with your falcon 
play? 

We live there, just beyond your gar- 
den wall, 

In the great house behind the poplars 
tall." 

So he spake on ; and Federigo heard 

As from afar each softly uttered word, 

And drifted onward through the 
golden gleams 

And shadows of the misty sea of 
dreams, 7 o 

As mariners becalmed through vapors 
drift, 

And feel the sea beneath them sink 
and lift, 

And hear far off the mournful break- 
ers roar, 

And voices calling faintly from the 
shore ! 

Then waking from his pleasant rever- 
ies, 

He took the little boy upon his knees, 

And told him stories of his gallant 
bird, 

Till in their friendship he became a 
third. 

Monna Giovanna, widowed in her 

prime, 
Had come with friends to pass the 

summer time So 

In her grand villa, half-way up the 

hill, 
O'erlooking Florence, but retired and 

still'; 
With iron gates, that opened through 

long lines 
Of sacred ilex and centennial pines, 
And terraced gardens, and broad steps 

of stone, 
And sylvan deities, with moss o'er- 

grown, 
And fountains palpitating in the heat, 
And all Val d Arno stretched beneath 

its feet. 
Here in seclusion, as a widow may, 
The lovely lady whiled the hours 

away, 90 



THE STUDENT'S TALE 



261 



Pacing in sable robes the statued hall, 
Herself the stateliest statue among all, 
And seeing more and more, with secret 

Her husband risen and living in her 
hoy, 

Till the lost sense of life returned 
again, 

Not as delight, but as relief from pain. 

Meanwhile the boy, rejoicing in his 
strength, 

Stormed down the terraces from length 
to length ; 

The screaming peacock chased in hot 
pursuit, 

And climbed the garden trellises for 
fruit. 100 

But his chief pastime was to watch the 
flight, 

Of a gerfalcon, soaring into sight, 

Beyond the trees that fringed the gar- 
den wall, 

Then downward stooping at some dis- 
tant call ; 

And as he gazed full often wondered he 

Who might the master of the falcon 
be, 

Until that happy morning, when he 
found 

Master and falcon in the cottage 
ground. 

And now a shadow and a terror fell 

On the great house, as if a passing- 
bell no 

Tolled from the tower, and filled each 
spacious room 

With secret awe and preternatural 
gloom ; 

The petted boy grew ill, and day by 
day 

Pined with mysterious malady away. 

The mother's heart would not be com- 
forted ; 

Her darling seemed to her already 
dead, 

And often, sitting by the sufferer's 
side, 

' ' What can I do to comfort thee ? " 
she cried. 

At first the silent lips made no reply, 

But, moved at length by her impor- 
tunate cry, 120 

"Give me," he answered, with im- 
ploring tone, 

" Ser Federigo's falcon for my own ! " 



No answer could the astonished mo- 
ther make ; 

How could she ask, e'en for her dar- 
ling's sake, 

Such favor at a luckless lover's hand, 

Well knowing that to ask was to com- 
mand ? 

Well knowing, what all falconers con- 
fessed, 

In all the land that falcon was the best, 

The master's pride and passion and 
delight, 

And the sole pursuivant of this poor 
knight. 130 

But yet, for her child's sake, she could 
no less 

Than give assent, to soothe his restless- 
ness, 

So promised, and then promising to 
keep 

Her promise sacred, saw him fall 
asleep. 

The morrow was a bright September 
morn ; 

The earth was beautiful as if new- 
born ; 

There was that nameless splendor 
everywhere, 

That wild exhilaration in the air, 

Which makes the passers in the city 
street 

Congratulate each other as they meet. 

Two lovely ladies, clothed in cloak 
and hood, 141 

Passed through the garden gate into 
the wood, 

Under the lustrous leaves, and through 
the sheen 

Of dewy sunshine showering down be- 
tween. 

The one, close-hooded, had the at- 
tractive grace 

Which sorrow sometimes lends a wo- 
man's face ; 

Her dark eyes moistened with the 
mists that roll 

From the gulf-stream of passion in the 
soul ; 

The other with her hood thrown back, 
her hair 

Making a golden glory in the air, 150 

Her checks suffused With an auroral 
blush, 

Her young heart singing louder than 
the thrush, 



262 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



So walked, that morn, through min- 
gled light and shade, 

Each by the other's presence lovelier 
made, 

Monna Giovanna and her bosom friend, 

Intent upon their errand and its end. 

They found Ser Federigo at his toil, 
Like banished Adam, delving in the 

soil; 
And when he looked and these fair 

women spied, 
The garden suddenly was glorified ; 160 
His long-lost Eden was restored again, 
And the strange river winding 

through the plain 
No longer was the Arno to his eyes, 
But the Euphrates watering Paradise ! 

Monna Giovanna raised her stately 

head, 
And with fair words of salutation said : 
"Ser Federigo, we come here as 

friends, 
Hoping in this to make some poor 

amends 
For past unkindness. I who ne'er be- 
fore 
Would even cross the threshold of 

your door, 170 

I who in happier days such pride 

maintained, 
Refused your banquets, and your gifts 

disdained, 
This morning come, a self-invited 

guest, 
To put your generous nature to the 

test, 
And breakfast with you under your 

own vine." 
To which he answered : " Poor desert 

of mine, 
Not your unkindness call it, for if 

aught 
Is good in me of feeling or of thought, 
From you it conies, and this last grace 

outweighs 
All sorrows, all regrets of other 

days." 180 

And after further compliment and talk, 
Among the asters in the garden walk 
He left his guests ; and to his cottage 

turned, 
And as he entered for a moment 

yearned 



For the lost splendors of the days of 

old, 
The ruby glass, the silver and the 

gold, 
And felt how piercing is the sting of 

pride, 
By want embittered and intensified. 
He looked about him for some means 

or way 
To keep this unexpected holiday ; 190 
Searched every cupboard, and then 

searched again, 
Summoned the maid, who came, but 

came in vain ; 
"The Signor did not hunt to-day," 

she said, 
' ' There 's nothing in the house but 

wine and bread." 
Then suddenly the drowsy falcon 

shook 
His little bells, with that sagacious 

look, 
Which said, as plain as language to 

the ear, 
' ' If anything is wanting, I am here ! " 

Yes, everything is wanting, gallant 
bird! 

The master seized thee without fur- 
ther word. 200 

Like thine own lure, he whirled thee 
round ; ah me ! 

The pomp and flutter of brave fal- 
conry, 

The bells, the jesses, the bright scar- 
let hood, 

The flight and the pursuit o'er field 
and wood, 

All these forevermore are ended now ; 

No longer victor, but the victim thou ! 

Then on the board a snow-white cloth 

he spread, 
Laid on its wooden dish the loaf of 

bread, 
Brought purple grapes with autumn 

sunshine hot, 
The fragrant peach, the juicy berga- 

mot ; 210 

Then in the midst a flask of wine he 

placed 
And with autumnal flowers the ban- 
quet graced. 
Ser Federigo, would not these suffice 
Without thy falcon stuffed with cloves 

and spice ? 



THE STUDENT'S TALE 



263 




" No longer victor, but the victim thou ! 



* 



When all was ready, and the courtly 

dame 
With her companion to the cottage 

came, 
Upon Ser Federigo's brain there fell 
The wild enchantment of a magic 

spell ! 
The room they entered, mean and low 

and small, 
Was changed into a sumptuous ban- 
quet-hall, 220 
With fanfares by aerial trumpets 

blown ; 
The rustic chair she sat on was a 

throne ; 
He ate celestial food, and a divine 
Flavor was given to his country 

wine, 



And the poor falcon, fragrant with 

his spice, 
A peacock was, or bird of paradise ! 

When the repast was ended, they arose 

And passed again into the garden - 
close. 

Then said the lady, "Far too well I 
know, 

Remembering still the days of long 
ago, 230 

Though you betray it not, with what 
surprise 

You see me here in this familiar wise. 

You have no children, and you cannot 
guess 

What anguish, what unspeakable dis- 
tress 



264 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



A mother feels, whose child is lying 
ill, y * 

Nor how her heart anticipates his will. 

And yet for this, you see me lay aside 

All womanly reserve and check of 
pride, 

And ask the thing most precious in 
your sight, 

Your falcon, your sole comfort and de- 
light, 240 

Which if you find it in your heart to 
give, 

My poor, unhappy boy perchance may 
live." 

Ser Federigo listens, and replies, 
With tears of love and pity in his 

eyes; 
"Alas, dear lady! there can be no 

task 
So sweet to me, as giving when you 

ask. 
One little hour ago, if I had known 
This wish of yours.- it would have 

been my own. 
But thinking in what manner I could 

best 
Do honor to the presence of my guest, 
I deemed that nothing worthier could 

be 251 

Than what most dear and precious 

was to me ; 
And so my gallant falcon breathed his 

last 
To furnish forth this morning our re- 
past." 

In mute contrition, mingled with dis- 
may, 

The gentle lady turned her eyes away, 

Grieving that he such sacrifice should 
make 

And kill his falcon for a woman's sake, 

Yet feeling in her heart a woman's 
pride, 

That nothing she could ask for was 
denied ; 260 

Then took her leave, and passed out 
at the gate 

With footstep slow and soul disconso- 
late. 

Three days went by, and lo ! a passing- 
bell 

Tolled from the little chapel in the 
dell ; 



Ten strokes Ser Federigo heard, and 

said, 
Breathing a prayer, ' ' Alas ! her child 

is dead ! " 
Three months went by ; and lo ! a mer- 
rier chime 
Rang from the chapel bells at Christ- 
mas-time ; 
The cottage was deserted, and no 

more 
Ser Federigo sat beside its door, 270 
But now, with servitors to do his will, 
In the grand villa, half-way up the hill, 
Sat at the Christmas feast, and at his 

side 
Monna Giovanna, his beloved bride, 
Never so beautiful, so kind, so fair, 
Enthroned once more in the old rustic 

chair, 
High-perched upon the back of which 

there stood 
The image of a falcon carved in wood, 
And underneath the inscription, with 

a date, 
"All things come round to him who 
will but wait." 280 



INTERLUDE 

Soon as the story reached its end, 
One, ever eager to commend, 
Crowned it with injudicious praise; 
And then the voice of blame found 

vent, 
And fanned the embers of dissent 
Into a somewhat lively blaze. 

The Theologian shook his head ; 
" These old Italian tales," he said, 
"From the much-praised Decameron 

down 
Through all the rabble of the rest, 10 
Are either trifling, dull, or lewd ; 
The gossip of a neighborhood 
In some remote provincial town, 
A scandalous chronicle at best ! 
They seem to me a stagnant fen, 
Grown rank with rushes and with 

reeds, 
Where a white lily, now and then, 
Blooms in the midst of noxious weeds 
And deadly nightshade on its banks! " 

To this the Student straight replied, 20 
' ' For the white lily, many thanks ! 



THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE 



<6S 



One should not say, with too much 

pride, 
Fountain, I will not drink of thee ! 
Nor were it grateful to forget 
That from these reservoirs and tanks 
Even imperial Shakespeare drew 
His Moor of Venice, and the Jew, 
And Romeo and Juliet, 
And many a famous comedy." 



And then another pause ; and then, 
Stroking his beard, he said again: 
' ' This brings back to my memory 
A story in the Talmud told, 
That book of gems, that book of gold, 
Of wonders many and manifold, 41 
A tale that often comes to me, 
And fills my heart,and haunts my brain, 
And never wearies nor grows old." 




■ This brings back to uiy memory 
A story in the Talmud told " 



Then a long pause; till some one 
said, 30 

"An Angel is flying overhead! " 
At these words spake the Spanish Jew, 
And murmured with an inward breath : 
" God grant, if what you say be true, 
It may not be the Angel of Death ! " 



THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE' 



THE LEGEND OF RABBI BEN LEVI 

Rabbi Ben Levi, on the Sabbath, 

read 
A volume of the Law, in which it said, 



266 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



"No man shall look upon my face 

and live." 
And as he read, he prayed that God 

would give 
His faithful servant grace with mortal 

eye 
To look upon His face and yet not die. 

Then fell a sudden shadow on the 

page, 
And, lifting up his eyes, grown dim 

with age, 
He saw the Ajagel of Death before him 

stand, 
Holding a naked sword in his right 

hand. 10 

Rabbi Ben Levi was a righteous man, 
Yet through his veins a chill of terror 

ran 
With trembling voice he said, "What 

wilt thou here?" 
The Angel answered, "Lo! the time 

draws near 
When thou must die; yet first, by 

God's decree, 
What e'er thou askest shall be granted 

thee." 
Replied the Rabbi, "Let these living 

eyes 
First look upon my place in Paradise." 

Then said the Angel, " Come with me 
and look." 

Rabbi Ben Levi closed the sacred book, 

And rising, and uplifting his gray 
head, 21 

" Give me thy sword," he to the An- 
gel said, 

" Lest thou shouldst fall upon me by 
the way." 

The Angel smiled and hastened to 
obey, 

Then led him forth to the Celestial 
Town, 

And set him on the wall, whence, gaz- 
ing down, 

Rabbi Ben Levi, with his living eyes, 

Might look upon his place in Paradise. 

Then straight into the city of the Lord 

The Rabbi leaped with the Death- 
Angel's sword, 30 

And through the streets there swept a 
sudden breath 

Of something there unknown, which 
men call death. 



Meanwhile the Angel stayed without, 

and cried, 
' ' Come back ! " To which the Rabbi's 

voice replied, 
' ' No ! in the name of God, whom I 

adore, 
I swear that hence I will depart no 

more ! " 

Then all the Angels cried, "O Holy 

One, 
See what the son of Levi here hath 

done! 
The kingdom of Heaven he takes by 

violence, 
And in Thy name refuses to go hence ! " 
The Lord replied, ' ' My Angels, be not 

wroth ; 4 i 

Did e'er the son of Levi brea?: his 

oath? 
Let him remain ; for he with mortal 

eye 
Shall look upon my face and yet not 

die." 

Beyond the outer wall the Angel of 

Death 
Heard the great voice, and said, with 

panting breath, 
' ' Give back the sword, and let me go 

my way," 
Whereat the Rabbi paused, and an- 
swered, "Nay! 
Anguish enough already hath it caused 
Among the sons of men." And while 

he paused 50 

He heard the awful mandate of the 

Lord 
Resounding through the air, "Give 

back the sword ! " 

The Rabbi bowed his head in silent 

prayer, 
Then said" he to the dreadful Angel, 

' ' Swear 
No human eye shall look on it again ; 
But when thou takest away the souls 

of men, 
Thyself unseen, and with an unseen 

sword, 
Thou wilt perform the bidding of the 

Lord." 
The Angel took the sword again, and 

swore, 
And walks on earth unseen forever- 
more. 60 



THE SICILIAN'S TALE 



267 



INTERLUDE 

He ended : and a kind of spell 
Upon the silent listeners fell. 
His solemn manner and his words 
Had touched the deep, mysterious 

chords 
That vibrate in each human breast 
Alike, but not alike confessed. 
The spiritual world seemed near ; 
And close above them, full of fear, 
Its awful adumbration passed, 
A luminous shadow, vague and vast. 10 
They almost feared to look, lest there, 
Embodied from the impalpable air, 
They might behold the Angel stand, 
Holding the sword in his right hand. 

At last, but in a voice subdued, 
Not to disturb their dreamy mood, 
Said the Sicilian : " While you spoke, 
Telling your legend marvellous, 
Suddenly in my memory woke 
The thought of one, now gone from 
us, — 20 

An old Abate\ meek and mild, 
My friend and teacher, when a child, 
Who sometimes in those days of old 
The legend of an Angel told, 
Which ran, as I remember, thus." 

THE SICILIAN'S TALE 

KING ROBERT OP SICILY 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope 

Urbane 
And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 
Apparelled in magnificent attire, 
With retinue of many a knight and 

squire, 
On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly 

sat 
And heard the priests chant the Mag- 
nificat. 
And as he listened, o'er and o'er again 
Repeated, like a burden or refrain, 
He caught the words, ' ' Deposuit %>o- 

tentes 
Be sede, et exaltavit humiles ; " 10 

And slowly lifting up his kingly head 
He to a learned clerk beside him said, 
"What mean these words?" The 

clerk made answer meet, 
" He has put down the mighty from 

their seat, 



And has exalted them of low degree." 
Thereat King Robert muttered scorn- 
fully, 
" 'Tis well that such seditious words 

are sung 
Only by priests and in the Latin tongue : 
For unto priests and people be it 

known 
There is no power can push me from 

my throne!" 20 

And leaning back, he yawned and fell 

asleep, 
Lulled by the chant monotonous and 

deep. 
When he awoke, it was already night ; 
The church was empty, and there was 

no light, 
Save where the lamps, that glimmered 

few and faint, 
Lighted a little space before some saint. 
He started from his seat and gazed 

around, 
But saw no living thing and heard no 

sound. 
He groped towards the door, but it 

was locked ; 
He cried aloud, and listened, and then 

knocked, 30 

And uttered awful threatenings and 

complaints, 
And imprecations upon men and saints. 
The sounds reechoed from the roof 

and walls 
As if dead priests were laughing in 

their stalls. 

At length the sexton, hearing from 

without 
The tumult of the knocking and the 

shout, 
And thinking thieves were in the 

house of prayer, 
Came with his lantern, asking, "Who 

is there ? " 
Half choked with rage, King Robert 

fiercely said, 
"Open: 'tis I, the King! Art thou 

afraid ? " 40 

The frightened sexton, muttering, 

with a curse, 
"This is some drunken vagabond, or 

worse ! " 
Turned the great key and flung the 

portal wide ; 
A man rushed by him at a single 

stride, 



268 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Haggard, half naked, without hat or 

cloak, 
Who neither turned, nor looked at 

him, nor spoke, 
But leaped into the blackness of the 

night, 
And vanished like a spectre from his 

sight. 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Ur- 
bane 

And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 

Despoiled of his magnificent attire, 51 

Bareheaded, breathless, and besprent 
with mire, 

With sense of wrong and outrage 
desperate, 

Strode on and thundered at the palace 
gate; 

Rushed through the courtyard, thrust- 
ing in his rage 

To right and left each seneschal and 
page, 

And hurried up the broad and sound- 
ing stair, 

His white face ghastly in the torches' 
glare. 

From hall to hall he passed with breath- 
less speed, ; 

Voices and cries he heard, but did not 
heed, 60 

Until at last he reached the banquet- 
room, 

Blazing with light, and breathing with 
perfume. 

There on the dais sat another king, 
Wearing his robes, his crown, his sig- 
net-ring, 
King Robert's self in features, form, 

and height, 
But all transfigured with angelic light ! 
It was an Angel ; and his presence there 
With a divine effulgence filled the air, 
An exaltation, piercing the disguise, 
Though none the hidden Angel recog- 
nize. 70 

A moment speechless, motionless, 
amazed, 

The throneless monarch on the Angel 
gazed, 

Who met his look of anger and sur- 
prise 

With the divine compassion of his 
eyes; 



Then said, " Who art thou ? and why 

com'st thou here ? " 
To which King Robert answered with 

a sneer, 
"I am the King, and come to claim 

my own 
From an impostor, who usurps my 

throne ! " 
And suddenly, at these audacious 

words, 
Up sprang the angry guests, and drew 

their swords; 80 

The Angel answered, with unruffled 

brow, 
"Nay, not the King, but the King's 

Jester, thou 
Henceforth shalt wear the bells and 

scalloped cape, 
And for thy counsellor shalt lead an 

ape ; 
Thou shale obey my servants when 

they call, 
And wait upon my henchmen in the 

hall ! " 

Deaf to King Robert's threats and 
cries and prayers, 

They thrust him from the hall and 
down the stairs ; 

A group of tittering pages ran before, 

And as they opened wide the folding- 
door, 90 

His heart failed, for he heard, with 
strange alarms, 

The boisterous laughter of the men- 
at-arms, 

And all the vaulted chamber roar and 
ring 

With the mock plaudits of "Long live 
the King ! " 

Next morning, waking with the day's 

first beam, 
He said within himself, "It was a 

dream ! " 
But the straw rustled as he turned his 

head, 
There were the cap and bells beside 

his bed, 
Around him rose the bare, discolored 

walls, 
Close by, the steeds were champing 

in their stalls, 100 

And in the corner, a revolting shape, 
Shivering and chattering sat the 

wretched ape. 



THE SICILIAN'S TALE 



269 



It was no dream ; the world he loved 

so much 
Had turned to dust and ashes at his 

touch ! 

Days came and went; and now re- 
turned again 

To Sicily the old Saturnian reign ; 

Under the Angel's governance benign 

The happy island danced with corn 
and wine, 

And deep within the mountain's burn- 
ing breast 

Enceladus, the giant, was at rest, no 

Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his 
fate, 

Sullen and silent and disconsolate. 

Dressed in the motley garb that Jest- 
ers wear, 

With look bewildered and a vacant 
stare, 

Close shaven above the ears, as monks 
are shorn, 

By courtiers mocked, by pages 
laughed to scorn, 

His only friend the ape, his only food 

What others left, — he still was un- 
subdued. 

And when the Angel met him on his 
way, 

And half in earnest, half in jest, 
would say, 120 

Sternly, though tenderly, that he 
might feel 

The velvet scabbard held a sword of 
steel, 

" Art thou the King? " the passion of 
his woe 

Burst from him in resistless overflow, 

And, lifting high his forehead, he 
would fling 

The haughty answer back, "lam, I 
. am the King ! " 

Almost three years were ended ; when 

there came 
Ambassadors of great repute and name 
From Valmond, Emperor of Alle- 

maine, 
Unto King Robert, saying that Pope 

Urbane 130 

By letter summoned them forthwith 

to come 
On Holy Thursday to his city of 

Rome. 



The Angel with great joy received his 
guests, 

And gave them presents of embroid- 
ered vests, 

And velvet mantles with rich ermine 
lined, 

And rings and jewels of the rarest 
kind. 

Then he departed with them o'er the 
sea 

Into the lovely land of Italy, 

Whose loveliness was more resplen- 
dent made 

By the mere passing of that caval- 
cade, 140 

With plumes, and cloaks, and hous- 
ings, and the stir 

Of jewelled bridle and of golden 
spur. 

And lo ! among the menials, in mock 
state, 

Upon a piebald steed, with shambling 
gait, 

His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the 
wind, 

The solemn ape demurely perched be- 
hind, 

King Robert rode, making huge mer- 
riment 

In all the country towns through 
which they went. 

The Pope received them with great 

pomp and blare 
Of bannered trumpets, on Saint Peter's 

square, 150 

Giving his benediction and embrace, 
Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. 
While with congratulations and with 

prayers 
He entertained the Angel unawares, 
Robert, the Jester, bursting through 

the crowd, 
Into their presence rushed, and cried 

aloud, 
"I am the King ! Look, and behold 

in me 
Robert, your brother, King of Sic- 
ily! 
This man, who wears my semblance to 

your eyes, 
Is an impostor in a king's disguise. 160 
Do you not know me ? does no voice 

within 
Answer my cry, and say we are 

akin? " 



270 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 




Within Palermo's wall " 



The Pope in silence, but with troubled 
mien, 

Gazed at the Angel's countenance se- 
rene ; 

The Emperor, laughing, said, "It is 
strange sport 

To keep a madman for thy Fool at 
court ! " 

And the poor, baffled Jester in disgrace 

Was hustled back among the populace. 

In solemn state the Holy Week went 

And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the 

sky ; 170 

The presence of the Angel, with its 

light, 
Before the sun rose, made the city 

bright, 
And with new fervor filled the hearts 

of men, 
Who felt that Christ indeed had risen 

again. 



Even the Jester, on his bed of straw, 

With haggard eyes the unwonted 
splendor saw, 

He felt within a power unfelt be- 
fore, 

And, kneeling humbly on his chamber 
floor, 

He heard the rushing garments of the 
Lord 

Sweep through the silent air, ascend- 
ing heavenward. 180 

And now the visit ending, and once 

more 
Valmond returning to the Danube's 

shore, 
Homeward the Angel journeyed, and 

again 
The land was made resplendent with 

his train, 
Flashing along the towns of Italy 
Unto Salerno, and from thence by 

sea. 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



271 



And when once more within Palermo's 
wall, 

And, seated on the throne in his great 
hall, 

He heard the Angelus from convent 
towers, 

As if the better world conversed with 
ours, 190 

He beckoned to King Robert to draw 
nigher, 

And with a gesture bade the rest re- 
tire ; 

And when they were alone, the Angel 
said, 

"Art thou the King? " Then, bow- 
ing down his head, 

King Robert crossed both hands upon 
his breast, 

And meekly answered him: " Thou 
knowest best! 

My sins as scarlet are ; let me go hence, 

And in some cloister's school of peni- 
tence, 

Across those stones, that pave the 
way to heaven, 

Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be 
shriven ! " 200 

The Angel smiled, and from his ra- 
diant face 

A holy light illumined all the place, 

And through the open window, loud 
and clear, 

They heard the monks chant in the 
Abochapel near, 

Above the stir and tumult of the street: 

' ' He has put down the mighty from 
their seat, 

And has exalted them of low degree ! " 

And through the chant a second mel- 
ody 

Rose like the throbbing of a single 
string : 

' ' I am an Angel, and thou art the 
King!" 210 

King Robert, who was standing near 

the throne, 
Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone ! 
But all apparelled as in days of old, 
With ermined mantle and with cloth of 

gold; 
And when his courtiers came, they 

found him there 
Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in 

silent prayer. 



INTERLUDE 

And then the blue-eyed Norseman 

told 
A Saga of the days of old. 
"There is," said he, "a wondrous 

book 
Of Legends in the old Norse tongue, 
Of the dead kings of Norroway, — 
Legends that once were told or sung 
In many a smoky fireside nook 
Of Iceland, in the ancient day, 
By wandering Saga -man or Scald ; 
' Heimskringla ' is the volume called ; 
And he who looks may find therein 
The story that I now begin. " 

And in each pause the story made 
Upon his violin he played, 
As an appropriate interlude, 
Fragments of old Norwegian tunes 
That bound in one the separate runes, 
And held the mind in perfect mood, 
Entwining and encircling all 
The strange and antiquated rhymes 
With melodies of olden times ; 
As over some half-ruined wall, 
Disjointed and about to fall, 
Fresh woodbines climb and interlace, 
And keep the loosened stones in 
place. 

THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 
THE SAGA OF KING OLAF 
I 

THE CHALLENGE OP THOR 

I am the God Thor, 
I am the War God, 
I am the Thunderer ! 
Here in my Northland, 
My fastness and fortress, 
Reign I forever ! 

Here amid icebergs 

Rule I the nations ; 

This is my hammer, 

Miolner the mighty ; 10 

Giants and sorcerers 

Cannot withstand it ! 

Thes« are the gauntlets 
Wherewith I wield it, 



272 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 




Here amid icebergs 
Rule I the nations " 



And hurl it afar off ; 
This is my girdle ; 
Whenever I brace it, 
Strength is redoubled ! 

The light thou beholdest 
Stream through the heavens, 
In flashes of crimson, 
Is but my red beard 
Blown by the night-wind, 
Affrighting the nations! 

Jove is my brother ; 

Mine eyes are the lightning ; 

The wheels of my chariot 

Roll in the thunder, 

The blows of my hammer 

Ring in the earthquake ! 

Force rules the world still, 
Has ruled it, shall rule it ; 
Meekness is weakness, 
Strength is triumphant, 
Over the whole earth 
Still is it Thor's-Day ! 

Thou art a God too, 
O Galilean ! 



And thus single-handed 
Unto the combat, 
Gauntlet or Gospel, 
Here I defy thee ! 



II 



KING OLAF S RETURN 

And King Olaf heard the cry, 
Saw the red light in the sky, 

Laid his hand upon his sword, 
As he leaned upon the railing, 
And his ships went sailing, sailing 

Northward into Drontheim fiord. 

There he stood as one who dreamed ; 
And the red light glanced and 
gleamed 5< 

On the armor that he wore ; 
And he shouted, as the rifted 
Streamers o'er him shook and shifted, 

" I accept thy challenge, Thor!" 

To avenge his father slain, 
Aud reconquer realm and reign, 
Came the youthful Olaf home, 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



273 



Through the midnight sailing, sailing, 
Listening to the wild wind's wailing, 
And the dashing of the foam. 60 

To his thoughts the sacred name 
Of his mother Astrid came, 

And the tale she oft had told 
Of her flight by secret passes 
Through the mountains and morasses, 

To the home of Hakon old. 

Then strange memories crowded back 
Of Queen Gunhild's wrath and wrack, 

And a hurried flight by sea ; 
Of grim Vikings, and the rapture 70 
Of the sea fight, and the capture, 

And the life of slavery. 

How a stranger watched his face 
In the Esthonian market-place, 

Scanned his features one by one, 
Saying, "We should know each 

other ; 
I am Sigurd, Astrid's brother, 

Thou art Olaf , Astrid's son I " 

Then as Queen Allogia's page, 

Old in honors, young in age, 80 

Chief of all her men-at-arms ; 
Till vague whispers, and mysterious, 
Reached King Valdemar, the imperi- 
ous, 

Filling him with strange alarms. 

Then his cruisings o'er the seas, 
Westward to the Hebrides 

And to Scilly's rocky shore ; 
And the hermit's cavern dismal, 
Christ's great name and rites baptis- 
mal 

In the ocean's rush and roar. 90 

All these thoughts of love and strife 
Glimmered through his lurid life, 

As the stars' intenser light 
Through the red flames o'er him trail- 
ing, 
As his ships went sailing, sailing 

Northward in the summer night. 

Trained for either camp or court, 
Skilful in each manly sport, 

Young and beautiful and tall ; 
Art of warfare, craft of chases, 100 
Swimming, skating, snow-shoe races, 

Excellent alike in all. 



When at sea, with all his rowers, 
He along the bending oars 

Outside of his ship could run. 
He the Smalsor Horn ascended, 
And his shining shield suspended 

On its summit, like a sun. 

On the ship-rails he could stand, 
Wield his sword with either hand, no 

And at once two javelins throw; 
At all feasts where ale was strongest 
Sat the merry monarch longest, 

First to come and last to go. 

Norway never yet had seen 
One so beautiful of mien, 

One so royal in attire, 
AVhen in arms completely furnished, 
Harness gold-inlaid and burnished, 

Mantle like a flame of fire. 120 

Thus came Olaf to his own, 
When upon the night-wind blown 

Passed that cry along the shore : 
And he answered, while the rifted 
Streamers o'er him shook and shifted, 

"I accept thy challenge, Thor ! " 



III 

THOKA OP RIMOL 

' ' Thora of Rimol ! hide me ! hide 

me ! 
Danger and shame and death betide 

me! 
For Olaf the King is hunting me 

down 
Through field and forest, through 

thorp and town!" 130 

Thus cried Jarl Hakon 
To Thora, the fairest of women. 

"Hakon Jarl! for the love I bear 

thee 
Neither shall shame nor death come 

near thee ! 
But the hiding-place wherein thou 

must lie 
Is the cave underneath the swine in 

the sty." 
Thus to Jarl Hakon 
Said Thora, the fairest of wo 

men. 



274 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



So Hakon Jarl and his base thrall 

Karker 
Crouched in the cave, than a dungeon 

darker, 140 

As Olaf came riding, with men in 

mail, 
Through the forest roads into Orka- 

dale, 
Demanding Jarl Hakon 
Of Thora, the fairest of women. 

''Rich and honored shall be whoever 

The head of Hakon- Jarl shall dis- 
sever! " 

Hakon heard him, and Karker the 
slave, 

Through the breathing-holes of the 
darksome cave. 
Alone in her chamber 
Wept Thora, the fairest of wo- 
men. 150 

Said Karker, the crafty, "I will not 
slay thee! 

For all the king's gold I will never 
betray thee ! " 

" Then why dost thou turn so pale, O 
churl, 

And then again black as the earth?" 
said the Earl. 
More pale and more faithful 
"Was Thora, the fairest of wo- 
men. 

From a dream in the night the thrall 
started, saying, 

"Round my neck a gold ring King 
Olaf was laying ! " 

And Hakon answered, "Beware of 
the king! 

He will lay round thy neck a blood- 
red ring." 160 
At the ring on her finger 
Gazed Thora, the fairest of wo- 
men. 

At daybreak slept Hakon, with sorrows 

encumbered, 
But screamed and drew up his feet as 

he slumbered ; 
The thrall in the darkness plunged 

with his knife, 
And the Earl awakened no more in 

this life. 
But wakeful and weeping 
Sat Thora, the fairest of women. 



At Nidarholm the priests are all sing- 
ing, 

Two ghastly heads on the gibbet are 
swinging ; 170 

One is Jarl Hakon' s and one is his 
thrall's, 

And the people are shouting from 
windows and walls; 
While alone in her chamber 
Swoons Thora, the fairest of wo- 
men. 



IV 



QUEEN SIGRID THE HAUGHTY 

Queen Sigrid the Haughty sat proud 

and aloft 
In her chamber, that looked over 
meadow and croft. * 
Heart's dearest, 
Why dost thou sorrow so? 

The floor with tassels of fir was be- 
sprent, 

Filling the room with their fragrant 
scent. 180 

She heard the birds sing, she saw the 

sun shine, 
The air of summer was sweeter than 

wine. 

Like a sword without scabbard the 

bright river lay 
Between her own kingdom and Norro- 

way. 

But Olaf the King had sued for her 

hand. 
The sword would be sheathed, the 

river be spanned. 

Her maidens were seated around her 

knee, 
Working bright figures in tapestry. 

And one was singing the ancient 

rune 
Of Brynlrilda's love and the wrath of 

Gudrun. 190 

And through it, and round it, and over 

it all 
Sounded incessant the waterfall. 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



2 75 



The Queen in her hand held a ring of 

gold, 
From the door of Lade's Temple old. 

King Olaf had sent her this wedding 

gift, 
But her thoughts as arrows were keen 

and swift. 

She had given the ring to her gold- 
smiths twain, 

Who smiled, as they handed it back 
again. 

And Sigrid the Queen, in her haughty 
way, 

Said, "Why do you smile, my gold- 
smiths, say ?" 200 

And they answered :"0 Queen! if the 

truth must be told, 
The ring is of copper, and not of 

gold!" 

The lightning flashed o'er her forehead 

and cheek, 
She only murmured, she did not speak : 

" If in his gifts he can faithless be, 
There will be no gold in his love to 
me." 

A footstep was heard on the outer 

stair, 
And in strode King Olaf with royal 

air. 

He kissed the Queen's hand, and he 

whispered of love, 
And swore to be true as the stars are 

above. 210 

But she smiled with contempt as she 

answered : " O king, 
Will you swear it, as Odin once swore, 

on the ring ? " 

And the King : " Oh, speak not of Odin 

to me, 
The wife of King Olaf a Christian 

must be." 

Looking straight at the King, with her 

level brows, 
She said, "I keep true to my faith and 

my vows." 



Then the face of King Olaf was dark- 
ened with gloom, 

He rose in his anger and strode through 
the room. 

"Why, then, should I care to have 

thee ? " he said, — 
"A faded old woman, a heathenish 

jade!" 220 

His zeal was stronger than fear or love, 
And he struck the Queen in the face 
with his glove. 

Then forth from the chamber in anger 

he fled, 
And the wooden stairway shook with 

his tread. 

Queen Sigrid the Haughty said under 

her breath, 
' ' This insult, King Olaf, shall be thy 
death ! " 
Heart's dearest, 
Why dost thou sorrow so ? 



THE SKERRY OP SHRIEKS 

Now from all King Olaf s farms 

His men-at-arms 230 

Gathered on the Eve of Easter ; 

To his house at Angvalds-ness 
Fast they press, 

Drinking with the royal feaster. 

Loudly through the wide-flung door 

Came the roar 
Of the sea upon the Skerry ; 
And its thunder loud and near 

Reached the ear, 
Mingling with their voices merry. 240 

" Hark! " said Olaf to his Scald, 

Half red the Bald, 
" Listen to that song, and learn it ! 
Half my kingdom would I give, 

As I live, 
If by such songs you would earn it ! 

' ' For of all the runes and rhymes 

Of all times, 
Best I like the ocean's dirges, 



276 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



When the old harper heaves and 
rocks, 250 

His hoary locks 
Flowing and flashing in the surges ! " 

Half red answered : "I am called 

The Unappalled ! 
Nothing hinders me or daunts me. 
Hearken to me, then, O King, 

While I sing 
The great Ocean Song that haunts me." 

" I will hear your song sublime 

Some other time." 260 

Says the drowsy monarch, yawning, 

And retires ; each laughing guest 
Applauds the jest ; 

Then they sleep till day is dawning. 

Pacing up and down the yard, 

King Olaf s guard 
Saw the sea-mist slowly creeping 
O'er the sands, and up the hill, 

Gathering still 
Round the house where they were 
sleeping. 270 

It was not the fog he saw 

Nor misty flaw, 
That above the landscape brooded ; 
It was Eyvind Kallda's crew 

Of warlocks blue 
With their caps of darkness hooded ! 

Round and round the house they go, 

Weaving slow 
Magic circles to encumber 
And imprison in their ring 280 

Olaf the King, 
As he helpless lies in slumber. 

Then athwart the vapors dun 

The Easter sun 
Streamed with one broad track of 

splendor ! 
In their real forms appeared 

The warlocks weird, 
Awful as the Witch of Endor. 

Blinded by the light that glared, 

They groped and stared, 290 

Round about with steps unsteady ; 

From his window Olaf gazed, 
And, amazed, 

"Who are these strange people?" 
said he. 



"Eyvind Kallda and his men! " 

Answered then. 
From the yard a sturdy farmer ; 
While the men-at-arms apace 

Filled the place, 
Busily buckling on their armor. 300 

From the gates they sallied forth, 

South and north, 
Scoured the island coast around them, 
Seizing all the warlock band, 

Foot and hand 
On the Skerry's rocks they bound 
them. 

And at eve the king again 

Called his train, 
And, with all the candles burning, 
Silent sat and heard once more 310 

The sullen roar 
Of the ocean tides returning. 

Shrieks arid cries of wild despair 

Filled the air, 
Growing fainter as they listened ; 
Then the bursting surge alone 

Sounded on ; — 
Thus the sorcerers were christened ! 

"Sing, O Scald, your song sublime, 
Your ocean-rhyme," 320 

Cried King Olaf : "it will cheer me!" 

Said the Scald, with pallid cheeks, 
"The Skerry of Shrieks 

Sings too loud for you to hear me ! " 



VI 

THE WRAITH OF ODIN 

The guests were loud, the ale was 

strong, 
King Olaf feasted late and long; 
The hoary Scalds together sang; 
O'erhead the smoky rafters rang. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

The door swung wide, with creak and 
din ; .330 

A blast of cold night-air came in, 
And on the threshold shivering stood 
A one-eyed guest, with cloak and 
hood. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



277 




. . . " on the threshold shivering stood 
A one-eyed guest, with cloak and hood ' 



The King exclaimed, "O graybeard 

pale ! 
Come warm thee with this cup of ale." 
The foaming draught the old man 

quaffed, 
The noisy guests looked on and 

laughed. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

Then spake the King : "Be not 
afraid : 340 

Sit here by me." The guest obeyed, 
And, seated at the table, told 
Tales of the sea, and Sagas old. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

And ever, when the tale was o'er, 
The King demanded yet one more ; 
Till Sigurd the Bishop smiling said, 
" 'T is late, O King, and time for bed." 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

The King retired ; the stranger guest 
Followed and entered with the rest ; 



The lights were out, the pages gone, 
But still the garrulous guest spake 
on. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

As one who from a volume reads, 
He spake of heroes and their deeds, 
Of lands and cities he had seen, 
And stormy gulfs that tossed be- 
tween. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

Then from his lips in music rolled 360 
The Havamal of Odin old, 
With sounds mysterious as the roar 
Of billows on a distant shore. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

"Do we not learn from runes and 

rhymes 
Made by' the gods in elder times, 
And do not still the great Scalds teach 
That silence better is than speech? " 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 



278 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Smiling at this, the King replied, 370 
" Thy lore is by thy tongue belied ; 
For never was I so enthralled 
Either by Saga-man or Scald." 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogel- 
sang. 

The Bishop said, "Late hours we 

keep! 
Night wanes, O King ! 't is time for 

sleep ! " 
Then slept the King, and when he 

woke 
The guest was gone, the morning 

broke. 378 

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

They found the doors securely barred, 
They found the watch-dog in the yard, 
There was no footprint in the grass, 
And none had seen the stranger pass. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogel- 
sang. 

King Olaf crossed himself and said : 
"I know that Odin the Great is dead; 
Sure is the triumph of our Faith, 
The one-eyed stranger was his wraith. " 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 



VII 

IRON-BEARD 

Olaf the King, one summer morn, 
Blew a blast on his bugle-horn, 391 
Sending his signal through the land of 
Drontheim. 

And to the Hus-Ting held at Mere 
Gathered the farmers far and near, 
With their war weapons ready to con- 
front him. 

Ploughing under the morning star, 
Old Iron-Beard in Yriar 
Heard the summons, chuckling with a 
low laugh. 

He wiped the sweat-drops from his 

brow, 
Unharnessed his horses from the 
plough, 400 

A.nd clattering came on horseback to 
King Olaf. 



He was the churliest of the churls ; 
Little he cared for king or earls ; 
Bitter as home-brewed ale were his 
foaming passions. 

Hodden-gray was the garb he wore, 
And by the Hammer of Thor he 

swore ; 
He hated the narrow town, and all its 

fashions. 

But he loved the freedom of his 

farm, 
His ale at night, by the fireside 

warm, 
Gudrun his daughter, with her flaxen 

tresses. 410 

He loved his horses and his herds, 
The smell of the earth, and the song 

of birds, 
His well-filled barns, his brook with 

its watercresses. 

Huge and cumbersome was his 

frame ; 
His beard, from which he took his 

name, 
Frosty and fierce, like that of Hymer 

the Giant. 

So at the Hus-Ting he appeared, 

The farmer of Yriar, Iron-Beard, 

On horseback, in an attitude defiant. 

And to King Olaf he cried aloud, 420 
Out of the middle of the crowd, 
That tossed about him like a stormy 
ocean : 

"Such sacrifices shalt thou bring 
To Odin and to Thor, O King, 
As other kings have done in their de- 
votion ! " 

King Olaf answered : " I command 
This land to be a Christian land ; 
Here is my Bishop who the folk bap- 
tizes! 

" But if you ask me to restore 
Your sacrifices, stained with gore, 
Then will I oifer human sacrifices! 431 

"Not slaves and peasants shall they 
be, 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



279 



But men of note and high degree, 
Such men as Orm of Lyra and Kar 
of Gryting ! " 

Then to their Temple strode he in, 
And loud behind him heard the din 
Of his men-at-arms and the peasants 
fiercely fighting. 

There in the Temple, carved in 

wood, 
The image of great Odin stood, 
And other gods, with Thor supreme 
among them. 440 

King Olaf smote them with the 
blade 



Of his huge war-axe, gold inlaid, 
And downward shattered to the pave- 
ment flung them. 

At the same moment rose without, 
From the contending crowd, a shout, 
A mingled sound of triumph and of 
wailing. 

And there upon the trampled plain 
The farmer Iron-Beard lay slain, 
Midway between the assailed and the 
assailing. 

King Olaf from the doorway spoke . 
" Choose ye between two things, my 

folk, 451 




; Sending his signal through the land of Drontheim 



28o 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



To be baptized or given up to slaugh- 



ter! 



their leader stark and 



And seeing 

dead, 
The people with a murmur said, 
"OKing, baptize us with thy holy 
water. " 

So all the Drontheim land became 
A Christian land in name and fame, 
ra the old gods no more believing and 
trusting. 

And as a blood-atonement, soon 
King Olaf wed the fair Gudrun ; 4 6o 
And thus in peace ended the Dron- 
theim Hus-Ting ! 



VIII 

GUDRUN 

On King Olafs bridal night 
Shines the moon with tender light, 
And across the chamber streams 
Its tide of dreams. 

At the fatal midnight hour, 
When all evil things have power, 
In the glimmer of the moon 
Stands Gudrun. 

Close against her heaving breast 470 
Something in her hand is pressed ; 
Like an icicle, its sheen 
Is cold and keen. 

On the cairn are fixed her eyes 
Where her murdered father lies, 
And a voice remote and drear 
She seems to hear. 

What a bridal night is this ! 
Cold will be the dagger's kiss ; 
Laden with the chill of death 480 

Is its breath. 

Like the drifting snow she sweeps 
To the couch where Olaf sleeps ; 
Suddenly he wakes and stirs, 
His eyes meet hers. 

" What is that," King Olaf said, 
' ' Gleams so bright above my head ? 



Wherefore standest thou so white 
In pale moonlight ? " 

" 'T is the bodkin that I wear 490 

When at night I bind my hair ; 
It woke me falling on the floor ; 
'T is nothing more." 

"Forests have ears, and fields have 



Often treachery lurking lies 

Underneath the fairest hair ! 

Gudrun beware ! " 

Ere the earliest peep of morn 
Blew King Olafs bugle-horn ; 
And forever sundered ride 
Bridegroom and bride ! 



5co 



IX 

THANGBRAND THE PRIEST 

Short of stature, large of limb, 
Burly face and russet beard, 
All the women stared at him, 
When in Iceland he appeared. 
"Look !" they said, 
With nodding head, 
"There goes Thangbrand, Olafs 
Priest." 

All the prayers he knew by rote, 

He could preach like Chrysostome, 
From the Fathers he could quote,- 511 
He had even been at Rome. 
A learned clerk, 
A man of mark, 
Was this Thangbrand, Olafs Priest. 

He was quarrelsome and loud, 

And impatient of control, 
Boisterous in the market crowd, 
Boisterous at the wassail-bowl, 
Everywhere 520 

Would drink and swear, 
Swaggering Thangbrand, Olafs Priest. 

In his house this malcontent 

Could the King no longer bear, 
So to Iceland he was sent 
To convert the heathen there, 
And away 
One summer day 
Sailed this Thangbrand, Olafs Priest. 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



281 



There in Iceland, o'er their books 530 

Pored the people day and night, 
But he did not like their looks, 
Nor the songs they used to write. 
" All this rhyme 
Is waste of time ! " 
Grumbled Thangbrand, Olaf s Priest. 

To the alehouse, where he sat, 

Came the Scalds and Saga-men ; 
Is it to be wondered at 
That they quarrelled now and then, 
When o'er his beer 541 

Began to leer 
Drunken Thangbrand, Olaf s Priest? 



When three women and one goose 
Make a market in your town ! " 

Every Scald 

Satires drawled 
On poor Thangbrand, Olaf s Priest. 

Something worse they did than that 
And what vexed him most of all 




Swaggering Thangbrand, Olaf 's Priest 



All the folk in Altafiord 

Boasted of their island grand ; 
Saying in a single word, 
" Iceland is the finest land 
That the sun 
Doth shine upon ! " 
Loud laughed Thangbrand, Olafs 
Priest. 55 o 

And he answered : " What 's the use 
Of this bragging up and down, 



Was a figure in shovel hat. 560 

Drawn in charcoal on the wall ; 

With words that go 

Sprawling below, 
' ' This is Thangbrand, Olafs Priest. " 

Hardly knowing what he did, 
Then he smote them might and 
main, 

Thorvale Veile and Veterlid 
Lay there in the alehouse slain. 



282 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



" To-day we are gold, 
To-morrow mould ! " 570 

Muttered Thangbrand, Olaf s Priest. 

Much in fear of axe and rope, 

Back to Norway sailed he then. 
" O King Olaf ! little hope 
Is there of these Iceland men ! " 
Meekly said, 
With bending head, 
Pious Thangbrand, Olaf s Priest. 



BAUD THE STRONG 

" All the old gods are dead, 
All the wild warlocks fled ; 580 

But the White Christ lives and reigns, 
And throughout my wide domains 
His Gospel shall be spread ! " 

On the Evangelists 

Thus swore King Olaf. 

But still in dreams of the night 

Beheld he the crimson light, 

And heard the voice that defied 

Him who was crucified, 

And challenged him to the fight. 590 

To Sigurd the Bishop 

King Olaf confessed it. 

And Sigurd the Bishop said, 
" The old gods are not dead, 
For the great Thor still reigns, 
And among the Jarls and Thanes 
The old witchcraft still is spread." 

Thus to King Olaf 

Said Sigurd the Bishop. 

" Far north in the Salten Fiord, 600 

By rapine, fire, and sword, 

Lives the Viking, Raud the Strong : 

All the Godoe Isles belong 

To him and his heathen horde." 

Thus went on speaking 

Sigurd the Bishop. 

" A warlock, a wizard is he, 

And the lord of the wind and the sea ; 

And whichever way he sails, 

He has ever favoring gales, 610 

By his craft in sorcery." 

Here the sign of the cross 
Made devoutly King Olaf. 



" With rites that we both abhor, 
He worships Odin and Thor ; 
So it cannot yet be said, 
That all the old gods are dead, 
And the warlocks are no more." 

Flushing with anger 

Said Sigurd the Bishop. 620 

Then King Olaf cried aloud : 
" I will talk with this mighty Raud, 
And along the Salten Fiord 
Preach the Gospel with my sword, 
Or be brought back in my shroud ! " 

So northward from Drontheim 

Sailed King Olaf! 



XI 

BISHOP SIGURD OF SALTEN FIORD 

Loud the angry wind was wailing 
As King Olaf s ships came sailing 
Northward out of Drontheim haven 
To the mouth of Salten Fiord. 63 1 

Though the flying sea-spray drenches 
Fore and aft the rowers' benches, 
Not a single heart is craven 

Of the champions there on board. 

All without the Fiord was quiet, 
But within it storm and riot, 
Such as on his Viking cruises 

Raud the Strong was wont to ride. 

And the sea through all its tide-ways 
Swept the reeling vessels sideways, 
As the leaves are swept through 
sluices, 642 

When the flood-gates open wide. 

'"T is the warlock! 'tis the demon 
Raud! " cried Sigurd to the seamen ; 
" But the Lord is not affrighted 
By the witchcraft of his foes." 

To the ship's bow he ascended, 
By his choristers attended, 
Round him were the tapers lighted, 650 
And the sacred incense rose. 

On the bow stood Bishop Sigurd, 
In his robes, as one transfigured, 
And the Crucifix he planted 

High amid the rain and mist. 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



283 



Then with holy water sprinkled 
All the ship ; the mass-bells tinkled : 
Loud the monks around him chanted, 
Loud he read the Evangelist. 

As into the Fiord they darted, 660 

On each side the water parted ; 
Down a path like silver molten 

Steadily rowed King Olaf's ships; 

Steadily burned all night the tapers, 
And the White Christ through the 

vapors 
Gleamed across the Fiord of Sal ten, 
As through John's Apocalypse, — 

Till at last they reached Raud's dwell- 
ing 
On the little isle of Gelling ; 
Not a guard was at the doorway, 670 
Not a glimmer of light was seen. 

But at anchor, carved and gilded, 
Lay the dragon -ship he builded ; 
'T was the grandest ship in Norway, 
With its crest and scales of green. 

Up the stairway, softly creeping, 
To the loft where Raud was sleep- 
ing, 
With their fists they burst asunder 
Bolt and bar that held the door. 

Drunken with sleep and ale they 
found him, 680 

Dragged him from his bed and bound 
him, 

While he stared with stupid won- 
der 
At the look and garb they wore. 

Then King Olaf said : " O Sea-King! 
Little time have we for speaking, 
Choose between the good and evil ; 
Be baptized ! or thou shalt die ! " 

But in scorn the heathen scoffer 
Answered : "I disdain thine offer; 
Neither fear I God nor Devil ; 690 

Thee and thy Gospel I defy ! " 

Then between his jaws distended, 
When his frantic struggles ended, 
Through King Olaf's horn an adder, 
Touched by fire, they forced to 
glide. 



Sharp his tooth was as an arrow, 
As he gnawed through bone and mar- 
row; 
But without a groan or shudder, 

Raud the Strong blaspheming 
died. 

Then baptized they all that region, 700 
Swarthy Lap and fair Norwegian, 
Far as swims the salmon, leaping, 
Up the streams of Salten Fiord. 

In their temples Thor and Odin 
Lay in dust and ashes trodden, 
As King Olaf, onward sweeping, 

Preached the Gospel with his 
sword. 

Then he took the carved and gilded 
Dragon-ship that Raud had builded, 
And the tiller single-handed 710 

Grasping, steered into the main. 

Southward sailed the sea-gulls o'er 

him, 
Southward sailed the ship that bore 

him, 
Till at Drontheim haven landed 
Olaf and his crew again. 



XII 

KING OLAF'S CHBISTMAS 

At Drontheim, Olaf the King 
Heard the bells of Yule-tide ring, 

As he sat in his banquet-hall, 
Drinking the nut-brown ale, 
With his bearded Berserks hale 720 

And tall. 

Three days his Yule-tide feasts 
He held with Bishops and Priests, 

And his horn filled up to the brim ; 
But the ale was never too strong, 
Nor the Saga-man's tale too long, 

For him. 

O'er his drinking-horn, the sign 
He made of the cross divine, 

As he drank, and muttered his 
prayers ; 730 

But the Berserks evermore 
Made the sign of the Hammer of Thor 

Over theirs. 



284 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



The gleams of the fire-light dance 
Upon helmet and hauberk and lance, 

And laugh in the eyes of the King ; 
And he cries to Halfred the Scald, 
Gray -bearded, wrinkled, and bald, 

"Sing!" 

"Sing me a song divine, 740 

With a sword in every line, 

And this shall be thy reward." 
And he loosened the belt at his waist, 
And in front of the singer placed 

His sword. 

" Quern-biter of Hakon the Good, 
Wherewith at a stroke he hewed 

The millstone through and 
through, 
And Foot -breadth of Thoralf the 

Strong, 
Were neither so broad nor so long, 750 
Nor so true." 

Then the Scald took his harp and 

sang, 
And loud through the music rang 

The sound of that shining word ; 
And the harp-strings a clangor made, 
As if they were struck with the blade 

Of a sword. 

And the Berserks round about 
Broke forth into a shout 

That made the rafters ring : 760 
They smote with their fists on the 

board, 
And shouted, " Long live the Sword, 

And the King ! " 

But the King said, " O my son, 
I miss the bright word in one 

Of thy measures and thy rhymes." 
And Halfred the Scald replied, 
"In another 't was multiplied 

Three times." 

Then King Olaf raised the hilt 770 
Of iron, cross-shaped and gilt, 

And said, " Do not refuse ; 
Count well the gain and the loss, 
Thor's hammer or Christ's cross : 

Choose ! " 

And Halfred the Scald said, " This 
In the name of the Lord I kiss, 
Who on it was crucified ! " 



And a shout went round the board, 
' ' In the name of Christ the Lord, 780 
Who died!" 

Then over the waste of snows 
The noonday sun uprose, 

Through the driving mists re- 
vealed, 
Like the lifting of the Host, 
By incense-clouds almost 

Concealed. 

On the shining wall a vast 
And shadowy cross was cast 

From the hilt of the lifted sword, 
And in foaming cups of ale 791 

The Berserks drank " Was-hael ! 

To the Lord!" 



XIII 

THE BUILDING OP THE LONG 
SERPENT 

Thorberg Skafting, master-builder, 

In his ship-yard by the sea, 
Whistling, said, ' ' It would bewilder 
Any man but Thorberg Skafting, 
Any man but me ! " 

Near him lay the Dragon stranded, 

Built of old by Raud the Strong, 
And King Olaf had commanded 801 
He should build another Dragon, 
Twice as large and long. 

Therefore whistled Thorberg Skaft 

ing, 

As he sat with half-closed eyes. 
And his head turned sideways, draft- 
ing 
That new vessel for King Olaf 

Twice the Dragon's size. 

Round him busily hewed and ham- 
mered 
Mallet huge and heavy axe ; 810 
Workmen laughed and sang and 

clamored ; 
Whirred the wheels, that into rigging 
Spun the shining flax ! 

All this tumult heard the master, — 

It was music to his ear ; 
Fancy whispered all the faster, 



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285 



' ' Men shall hear of Thorberg Skaf ting 
For a hundred year ! " 

Workmen sweating at the forges 

Fashioned iron bolt and bar, 820 
Like a warlock's midnight orgies 
Smoked and bubbled the black cal- 
dron 
With the boiling tar. 

Did the warlocks mingle in it, 

Thorberg Skafting, any curse ? 
Could you not be gone a minute 
But some mischiefmust be doing, 
Turning bad to worse? 

'T was an ill wind that came wafting 
From his homestead words of 
woe : 830 



To his farm went Thorberg Skafting, 
Oft repeating to his workmen, 
Build ye thus and so. 

xlfter long delays returning 

Came the master back by night ; 
To his ship-yard longing, yearning, 
Hurried he, and did not leave it 
Till the morning's light. 

■ ' Come and see my ship, my darling ! " 
On the morrow said the King ; 840 

"Finished now from keel to carling ; 

Never yet was seen in Norway 
Such a wondrous thing ! " 

In the ship-yard, idly talking, 

At the ship the workmen stared : 
Some one, all their labor balking. 




Never ship was built in Norway 
Half so fine as she ! M 



286 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Down her sides had cut deep gashes, 
Not a plank was spared ! 

" Death be to the evil-doer! " 

With an oath King Olaf spoke ; 850 
' ' But rewards to his pursuer ! " 
And with wrath his face grew redder 
Than his scarlet cloak. 

Straight the master-builder, smiling, 

Answered thus the angry King : 
"Cease blaspheming and reviling, 
Olaf, it was Thorberg Skafting 
Who has done this thing ! " 

Then he chipped and smoothed the 
planking, 
Till the King, delighted, swore, 860 
With much lauding and much thank- 
ing, 
" Handsomer is now my Dragon 
Than she was before ! " 

Seventy ells and four extended 

On the grass the vessel's keel ; 
High above it, gilt and splendid, 
Rose the figure-head ferocious 
With its crest of steel. 

Then they launched her from the tres- 
sels, 

In the ship-yard by the sea ; 870 

She was the grandest of all vessels, 
Never ship was built in Norway 

Half so fine as she ! 

The Long Serpent was she christened, 

'Mid the roar of cheer on cheer ! 
They who to the Saga listened 
Heard the name of Thorberg Skafting 
For a hundred year! 

XIV 

THE CREW OP THE LONG SERPENT 

Safe at anchor in Drontheim bay 
King Olaf s fleet assembled lay, 88c 

And, striped with white and blue, 
Downward fluttered sail and banner, 
As alights the screaming lanner; 
Lustily cheered, in their wild manner, 

The Long Serpent's crew. 

Her forecastle man was Ulf the Red ; 
Like a wolf's was his shaggy head, 



His teeth as large and white ; 
His beard, of gray and russet blended, 
Round as a swallow's nest descended ; 
As standard-bearer he defended 891 

Olaf s flag in the fight. 

Near him Kolbiorn had his place, 
Like the King in garb and face, 

So gallant and so hale ; 
Every cabin-boy and varlet 
Wondered at his cloak of scarlet ; 
Like a river, frozen and star-lit, 

Gleamed his coat of mail. 

By the bulkhead, tall and dark, 900 
Stood Thrand Rame of Thelemark, 

A figure gaunt and grand ; 
On his hairy arm imprinted 
Was an anchor, azure-tinted ; 
Like Thor's hammer, huge and dinted 

Was his brawny hand. 

Einar Tamberskelver, bare 
To the winds his golden hair, 

By the mainmast stood ; 
Graceful was his form, and slen- 
der, 910 
And his eyes were deep and tender 
As a woman's, in the splendor 

Of her maidenhood. 

In the fore-hold Biorn and Bork 
Watched the sailors at their work : 

Heavens! how they swore! 
Thirty men they each commanded, 
Iron-sinewed, horny-handed, 
Shoulders broad, and chests expanded, 

Tugging at the oar. 920 

These, and many more like these, 
With King Olaf sailed the seas, 

Till the waters vast 
Filled them with a vague devotion, 
With the freedom and the motion, 
With the roll and roar of ocean 

And the sounding blast. 

When they landed from the fleet, 
How they roared through Drontheim's 
street, 
Boisterous as the gale ! 930 

How they laughed and stamped and 

pounded, 
Till the tavern roof resounded 
And the host looked on astounded 
As they drank the ale 1 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



287 



Never saw the wild North Sea 
Such a gallant company 

Sail its billows blue ! 
Never, while they cruised and quar- 
relled, 
Old King Gorm, or Blue-Tooth Har- 

ald, 
Owned a ship so well apparelled, 940 
Boasted such a crew ! 



XV 

A LITTLE BIBD IN THE AIR 

A little bird in the air 

Is singing of Thyri the fair, 

The sister of Svend the Dane ; 

And the song of the garrulous bird 

In the streets of the town is heard, 

And repeated again and again. 

Hoist up your sails of silk, 

And flee away from each other. 

To King Burislaf , it is said, 950 

Was the beautiful Thyri wed, 

And a sorrowful bride went she ; 
And after a week and a day 
She has fled away and away 
From his town by the stormy sea. 
Hoist up your sails of silk, 
And flee away from each other. 

They say, that through heat and 

through cold, 
Through weald, they say, and through 
wold, 
By day and by night, they say, 9 6o- 
She has fled ; and the gossips report 
She has come to King Olaf s court, 
And the town is all in dismay. 
Hoist up your sails of silk, 
And flee away from each other. 

It is whispered King Olaf has seen, 
Has talked with the beautiful Queen ; 

And they wonder how it will end; 
For surely, if here she remain, 
It is war with King Svend the Dane, 
And King Burislaf the Vend! 97 t 
Hoist up your sails of silk, 
And flee away from each other. 

Oh, greatest wonder of all ! 
It is published in hamlet and hall, 
It roars like a flame that is fanned ! 



The King — yes, Olaf the King — 
Has wedded her with his ring, 
And Thyri is Queen in the land! 
Hoist up your sails of silk, 9 
And flee away from each other. 



XVI 

QUEEN THYRI AND THE ANGELICA 
STALKS 

Northward over Drontheim, 
Flew the clamorous sea-gulls, 
Sang the lark and linnet 
From the meadows green ; 

Weeping in her chamber, 
Lonely and unhappy, 
Sat the Drottning Thyri, 
Sat King Olaf s Queen. 



In at all the windows 
Streamed the pleasant sunshine, 
On the roof above her 
Softly cooed the dove; 

But the sound she heard not, 
Nor the sunshine heeded, 
For the thoughts of Thyri 
Were not thoughts of love. 

Then King Olaf entered, 
Beautiful as morning, 
Like the sun at Easter i< 

Shone his happy face ; 

In his hand he carried v 
Angelicas uprooted, 
With delicious fragrance 
Filling all the place. 

Like a rainy midnight 
Sat the Drottning Thyri, 
Even the smile of Olaf 

Could not cheer her gloom; 
i 

£sor the stalks he gave her » 

' Fith a gracious gesture, 
And with words as pleasant 

As their own perfume. 

In her hands he placed them, 
And her jewelled fingers 
Through the green leaves glistened 
Like the dews of morn ; 



99c 



288 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



But she cast them from her, 
Haughty and indignant, 
On the floor she threw them 1020 

With a look of scorn. 

"Richer presents," said she, 
" Gave King Harald Gormson 
To the Queen, my mother, 
Than such worthless weeds ; 

" When he ravaged Norway, 
Laying waste the kingdom, 
Seizing scatt and treasure 
For her ryyal needs. 

" But thou darest not venture 1030 
Through the Sound to Vendland, 
My domains to rescue 
From King Burislaf ; 

•" Lest King Svend of Denmark, 
Forked Beard, my brother, 
Scatter all thy vessels 
As the wind the chaff." 

Then up sprang King Olaf, 
Like a reindeer bounding, 
With an oath he answered 1040 

Thus the luckless Queen : 

"Never yet did Olaf 
Fear King Svend of Denmark ; 
This right hand shall hale him 
By his forked chin ! " 

Then he left the chamber, 
Thundering through the doorway, 
Loud his steps resounded 
Down the outer stair". 

Smarting with the insult, 1050 

Through the streets of Drontheim 
Strode he red and wrathful, 
With his stately air. 

All his ships he gathered, 
Summoned all his forces, 
Making his war levy 
In the region round. 



Down the coast of Norway, 
Like a flock of sea-gulls, 
Sailed the fleet of Olaf 
Through the Danish Sound. 



1060 



With his own hand fearless 
Steered he the Long Serpent, 
Strained the creaking cordage, 
Bent each boom and gaff ; 

Till in Vendland landing, 
The domains of Thyri 
He redeemed and rescued 
From King Burislaf. 

Then said Olaf, laughing, 
''Not ten yoke of oxen 
Have the power to draw us 
Like a woman's hair ! 

' ' Now will I confess it, 
Better things are jewels 
Than angelica stalks are 
For a queen to wear." 



XVII 

KING SVEND OF THE FORKED BEARD 

Loudly the sailors cheered 

Svend of the Forked Beard, 

As with his fleet he steered 1080 

Southward to Vendland ; 
Where with their courses hauled 
All were together called, 
Under the Isle of Svald 

Near to the mainland. 

After Queen Gunhild's death, 
So the old Saga saith, 
Plighted King Svend his faith 

To Sigrid the Haughty ; 
And to avenge his bride, 1090 

Soothing her wounded pride, 
Over the waters wide 

King Olaf sought he. 

Still on her scornful face, 
Blushing with deep disgrace, 
Bore she the crimson trace 

Of Olaf's gauntlet ; 
Like a malignant star, 
Blazing in heaven afar, 
Red shone the angry scar uoo 

Under her frontlet. 

Oft to King Svend she spake, 
" For thine own honor's sake 
Shalt thou swift vengeance take 
On the vile coward ! " 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



289 




For thine own honor's sake 
Shalt thou swift vengeance take " 



Until the King at last, 
Gusty and overcast, 
Like a tempestuous blast 
Threatened and lowered 

Soon as the Spring appeared, 
Svend of the Forked Beard 
High his red standard reared, 

Eager for battle ; 
While every warlike Dane, 
Seizing his arms again, 
Left all unsown the grain, 

Unhoused the cattle. 



Likewise the Swedish King 
Summoned in haste a Thing, 
Weapons and men to bring 

In aid of Denmark ; 
Eric the Norseman, too, 
As the war-tidings flew, 
Sailed with a chosen crew 

From Lapland and Finmark. 

So upon Easter day 
Sailed the three kings away, 
Out of the sheltered bay, 
In the bright season ; 



290 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



With them Earl Sigvald came, 1 
Eager for spoil and fame ; 
Pity that such a name 
Stooped to such treason ! 

Safe under Svald at last, 
Now were their anchors cast, 
Safe from the sea and blast, 

Plotted the three kings ; 
While, with a base intent, 
Southward Earl Sigvald went, 
On a foul errand bent, 1 

Unto the Sea-kings. 

Thence to hold on his course 
Unto King Olaf's force, 
Lying within the hoarse 

Mouths of Stet-haven ; 
Him to ensnare and bring 
Unto the Danish king, 
Who his dead corse would fling 

Forth to the raven ! 

XVIII 

KING OLAP AND EARL SIGVALD 

On the gray sea-sands 1 

King Olaf stands, 
Northward and seaward 
He points with his hands. 

With eddy and whirl 
The sea-tides curl, 
Washing the sandals 
Of Sigvald the Earl. 

The mariners shout, 

The ships swing about, 

The yards are all hoisted, 1 

The sails nutter out. 

The war-horns are played, 
The anchors are weighed, 
Like moths in the distance 
The sails flit and fade. 

The sea is like lead, 
The harbor lies dead, 
As a corse on the sea-shore, 
Whose spirit has fled 1 

On that fatal day, u 

The histories say, 
Seventy vessels 
Sailed out of the bay. 



r 5 o 



160 



[70 



But soon scattered wide 
O'er the billows they ride, 
While. Sigvald and Olaf 
Sail side by side. 

Cried the Earl: " Follow me ! 
I your pilot will be, 
For I know all the channels n8o 
Where flows the deep sea ! " 

So into the strait 
Where his foes lie in wait, 
Gallant King Olaf 
Sails to his fate ! 

Then the sea-fog veils 
The ships and their sails ; 
Queen Sigrid the Haughty, 
Thy vengeance prevails! 

XIX 

KING OLAF'S WAR-HORNS 

" Strike the sails! " King Olaf said ; 
"Never shall men of mine take 
flight ; 1 191 

Never away from battle I fled, 
Never away from my foes ! 

Let God dispose 
Of my life in the fight ! " 

"Sound the horns !" said Olaf the 

King; 
And suddenly through the drifting 

brume 
The blare of the horns began to ring, 
Like the terrible trumpet shock 

Of Regnarock, 1200 

On the Day of Doom ! 

Louder and louder the war -horns 

sang 
Over the level floor of the flood ; 
All the sails came down with a clang, 
And there in the midst overhead 

The sun hung red 
As a drop of blood. 

Drifting down on the Danish fleet 
Three together the ships were lashed, 
So that neither should turn and re- 
treat ; 1210 
In the midst, but in front of the rest, 

The burnished crest 
Of the Serpent flashed. 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



291 



King Olaf stood on the quarter-deck, 
With bow of ash and arrows of oak, 
His gilded shield was without a fleck, 
His helmet inlaid with gold, 

And in many a fold 
Hung his crimson cloak. 

On the forecastle Ulf the Red 1220 

Watched the lashing of the ships ; 
' ' If the Serpent lie so far ahead, 
We shall have hard work of it here," 

Said he with a sneer 
On his bearded lips. 

King Olaf laid an arrow on string, 
"Have I a coward on board?" said 

he. 
" Shoot it another way, O King! " 
Sullenly answered Ulf, 

The old sea- wolf ; 1230 

"You have need of me ! " 

In front came Svend, the King of the 

Danes, 
Sweeping down with his fifty rowers ; 
To the right, the Swedish king with 

his thanes ; 
And on board of the Iron Beard 

Earl Eric steered 
To the left with his oars. 

"These soft Danes and Swedes," said 
the King, 

" At home with their wives had better 
stay, 

Than come within reach of my Ser- 
pent's sting: 1240 

But where Eric the Norseman leads 
Heroic deeds 

Will be done to-day! " 

Then as together the vessels crashed, 
Eric severed the cables of hide, 
With which King Olaf's ships were 

lashed, 
And left them to drive and drift 

With the currents swift 
Of the outward tide. 

Louder the war - horns growl and 
snarl, 1250 

Sharper the dragons bite and sting ! 
Eric the son of Hakon Jarl 
A death-drink salt as the sea 

Pledges to thee, 
Olaf the King! 



XX 

EINAR TAMBERSKELVER 

It was Einar Tamberskelver 

Stood beside the mast ; 
From his yew-bow, tipped with silver, 

Flew the arrows fast ; 
Aimed at Eric unavailing, 1260 

As he sat concealed, 
Half behind the quarter-railing, 

Half behind his shield. 

First an arrow struck the tiller, 

Just above his head ; 
" Sing, O Eyvind Skaldaspiller, " 

Then Earl Eric said. 
" Sing the song of Hakon dying, 

Sing his funeral wail ! " 
And another arrow flying 1270 

Grazed his coat of mail. 

Turning to a Lapland yeoman, 

As the arrow passed, 
Said Earl Eric, " Shoot that bowman 

Standing by the mast." 
Sooner than the word was spoken 

Flew the yeoman's shaft ; 
Einar's bow in twain was broken, 

Einar only laughed. 

"What was that? "said Olaf, stand- 
ing 1280 
On the quarter-deck. 
"Something heard I like the strand- 
ing 
Of a shattered wreck." 
Einar then, the arrow taking 

From the loosened string, 
Answered, "That was Norway break- 
ing 
From thy hand, O King ! " 

" Thou art but a poor diviner," 

Straightway Olaf said ; 
" Take my bow, and swifter, Einar, 

Let thy shafts be sped." 1291 

Of his bows the fairest choosing, 

Reached he from above ; 
Einar saw the blood-drops oozing 

Through his iron glove. 

But the bow was thin and narrow ; 

At the first assay, 
O'er its head he drew the arrow, 

Flung the bow away ; 



292 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Said, with hot and angry temper 1300 

Flushing in his cheek, 
' ' Olaf ! for so great a Kamper 

Are thy bows too weak! " 

Then, with a smile of joy defiant 

On his beardless lip, 
Scaled he, light and self-reliant, 

Eric's dragon-ship. 
Loose his golden locks were flowing, 

Bright his armor gleamed ; 
Like Saint Michael overthrowing 1310 

Lucifer he seemed. 



XXI 

KING OLAF'S DEATH-DRINK 

All day has the battle raged, 
All day have the ships engaged, 
But not yet is assuaged 
The vengeance of Eric the Earl. 

The decks with blood are red, 
The arrows of death are sped, 
The ships are filled with the dead, 
And the spears the champions hurl. 

They drift as wrecks on the tide, 1320 
The grappling-irons are plied, 
The boarders climb up the side, 
The shouts are feeble and few. 

Ah ! never shall Norway again 

See her sailors come back o'er the 

main; 
They all lie wounded or slain, 
Or asleep in the billows blue ! 

On the deck stands Olaf the King, 
Around him whistle and sing 
The spears that the foemen fling, 1330 
And the stones they hurl with their 
hands. 

In the midst of the stones and the 

spears, 
Kolbiorn, the marshal, appears, 
His shield in the air he uprears, 
By the side of King Olaf he stands. 

Over the slippery wreck 
Of the Long Serpent's deck 
Sweeps Eric with hardly a check, 
His lips with anger are pale ; 



He hews with his axe at the mast, 1340 
Till it falls, with the sails overcast, 
Like a snow-covered pine in the vast 
Dim forests of Orkadale. 

Seeking King Olaf then, 
He rushes aft with his men, 
As a hunter into the den 
Of the bear, when he stands at bay. 

"Remember Jarl Hakon! " he cries ; 
When lo ! on his wondering eyes, 
Two kingly figures arise, 1350 

Two Olafs in warlike array ! 

Then Kolbiorn speaks in the ear 
Of King Olaf a word of cheer, 
In a whisper that none may hear, 
With a smile on his tremulous lip ; 

Two shields raised high in the air, 
Two flashes of golden hair, 
Two scarlet meteors' glare, 
And both have leaped from the 
ship. 

Earl Eric's men in the boats 1360 

Seize Kolbiorn's shield as it floats, 
And cry, from their hairy throats, 
"See! it is Olaf the King ! " 

While far on the opposite side 
Floats another shield on the tide, 
Like a jewel set in the wide 
Sea-current's eddying ring. 

There is told a wonderful tale, 
How the King stripped off his mail, 
Like leaves of the brown sea-kale, 1370 
As he swam beneath the main ; 

But the young grew old and gray, 
And never, by night or by day, 
In his kingdom of Norroway 
Was King Olaf seen again ! 

XXII 

THE NUN OP NIDAROS 

In the convent of Drontheim 

Alone in her chamber 

Knelt Astrid the Abbess, 

At midnight, adoring, 

Beseeching, entreating 1380 

The Virgin and Mother. 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



293 



She heard in the silence 


The voice of Saint John, 


The voice of one speaking, 


The beloved disciple, 


Without in the darkness, 


Who wandered and waited 


In gusts of the night- wind, 


The Master's appearance, 


Now louder, now nearer, 


Alone in the darkness, 


Now lost in the distance. 


Unsheltered and friendless. 




Knelt Astrid the Abbess, 
At midnight, adoring ' ' 



The voice of a stranger 
It seemed as she listened, 
Of some one who answered 
Beseeching, imploring, 
A cry from afar off 
She could not distinguish. 



1390 



' It is accepted, 
The angry defiance, 
The challenge of battle 1 
It is accepted, 
But not with the weapons 
Of war that thou wield est ! 



294 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



"Cross against corselet, 
Love against hatred, 
Peace-cry for war-cry ! 
Patience is powerful ; 
He that o'ercometh 1410 

Hath power o'er the nations ! 

' ' As torrents in summer, 
Half dried in their channels, 
Suddenly rise, though the 
Sky is still cloudless, 
For rain has been falling 
Far off at their fountains ; 

' ' So hearts that are fainting 
Grow full to o'erflowing, 
And they that behold it 1420 

Marvel, and know not 
That God at their fountains 
Far off has been raining 1 

" Stronger than steel 
Is the sword of the Spirit ; 
Swifter than arrows 
The light of the truth is, 
Greater than anger 
Is love, and subdueth ! 

"Thou art a phantom, 1430 

A shape of the sea-mist, 
A shape of the brumal 
Rain, and the darkness 
Fearful and formless ; 
Day dawns and thou art not I 

" The dawn is not distant, 
Nor is the night starless ; 
Love is eternal ! 
God is still God, and 
His faith shall not fail us; 1440 
Christ is eternal ! " 



INTERLUDE 

A strain of music closed the tale, 
A low, monotonous, funeral wail, 
That with its cadence, wild and sweet, 
Made the long Saga more complete. 

" Thank God," the Theologian said, 

" The reign of violence is dead, 

Or dying surely from the world ; 

While Love triumphant reigns instead, 

And in a brighter sky o'erhead 

His blessed banners are unfurled. 10 



And most of all thank God for this : 
The war and waste of clashing creeds 
Now end in words, and not in deeds, 
And no one suffers loss, or bleeds, 
For thoughts that men call heresies. 

" I stand without here in the porch, 

I hear the bell's melodious din, 

I hear the organ peal within, 

I, hear the prayer, with words that 

scorch 
Like sparks from an inverted torch, 20 
I hear the sermon upon sin, 
With threatenings of the last account. 
And all, translated in the air, 
Reach me but as our dear Lord's 

Prayer, 
And as the Sermon on the Mount. 

" Must it be Calvin, and not Christ ? 
Must it be Athanasian creeds, 
Or holy water, books, and beads ? 
Must struggling souls remain content 
With councils and decrees of Trent ? 30 
And can it be enough for these 
The Christian Church the year em- 
balms 
With evergreens and boughs of palms, 
And fills the air with litanies ? 

' ' I know that yonder Pharisee 
Thanks God that he is not like me ; 
In my humiliation dressed, 
I only stand and beat my breast, 
And pray for human charity. 

"Not to one church alone, but seven, 
The voice prophetic spake from hea- 
ven ; 4 i 
And unto each the promise came, 
Diversified, but still the same ; 
For him that overcometh are 
The new name written on the stone, 
The raiment white, the crown, the 

throne, 
And I will give him the Morning 
Star! 

" Ah! to how many Faith has been 
No evidence of things unseen, 
But a dim shadow, that recasts 50 
The creed of the Phantasiasts, 
For whom no Man of Sorrows died, 
For whom the Tragedy Divine 
Was but a symbol and a sign, 
And Christ a phantom crucified ! 



THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE 



295 



" For others a diviner creed 
Is living in the life they lead. 
The passing of their beautiful feet 
Blesses the pavement of the street, 
And all their looks and words repeat 60 
Old Fuller's saying, wise and sweet, 
Not as a vulture, but a dove, 
The Holy Ghost came from above. 

" And this brings back to me a tale 
So sad the hearer well may quail, 
And question if such things can be ; 
Yet in the chronicles of Spain 
Down the dark pages runs this stain, 
And naught can wash them white 

again, 
So fearful is the tragedy." 70 



THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE 

TORQUEMADA 

In the heroic days when Ferdinand 

And Isabella ruled the Spanish land, 

And Torquemada, with his subtle 
brain, 

Ruled them as Grand Inquisitor of 
Spain, 

In a great castle near Yalladolid, 

Moated and high and by fair wood- 
lands hid, 

There dwelt, as from the chronicles we 
learn, 

An old Hidalgo proud and taciturn, 

Whose name has perished, with his 
towers of stone, 

And all his actions save this one 
alone ; 10 

This one, so terrible, perhaps 't were 
best 

If it, too, were forgotten with the 
rest ; 

Unless, perchance, our eyes can see 
therein 

The martyrdom triumphant o'er the 
sin ; 

A double picture, with its gloom and 
glow, 

The splendor overhead, the death be- 
low. 

This sombre man counted each day as 

lost 
On which his feet no sacred threshold 

crossed 5 



And when he chanced the passing 

Host to meet, 
He knelt and prayed devoutly in the 

street ; 20 

Oft he confessed ; and with each mu- 
tinous thought, 
As with wild beasts at Ephesus, he 

fought. 
In deep contrition scourged himself in 

Lent, 
Walked in processions, with his head 

down bent, 
At plays of Corpus Christi oft was 

seen, 
And on Palm Sunday bore his bough 

of green. 
His sole diversion was to hunt the 

boar 
Through tangled thickets of the forest 

hoar, 
Or with his jingling mules to hurry 

down 
To some grand bull-fight in the neigh- 
boring town, 30 
Or in the crowd with lighted taper 

stand, 
When Jews were burned, or banished 

from the land. 
Then stirred within him a tumultuous 

joy; 

The demon whose delight is to de- 
stroy 

Shook him, and shouted with a trum- 
pet tone, 

" Kill! kill! and let the Lord find out 
his own ! " 

And now, in that old castle in the 
wood, 

His daughters, in the dawn of woman- 
hood, 

Returning from their convent school, 
had made 

Resplendent with their bloom the for- 
est shade, 40 

Reminding him of their dead mother's 
face, 

When first she came into that gloomy 
place, — 

A memory in his heart as dim and 
sweet 

As moonlight in a solitary street, 

Where the same rays, that lift the sea, 
are thrown 

Lovely but powerless upon walls of 
stone. 



296 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



These two fair daughters of a mother 

dead 
Were all the dream had left him as it 

fled. 
A joy at first, and then a growing care, 
As if a voice within him cried, " Be- 
ware ! " 50 
A vague presentiment of impending 

doom, 
Like ghostly footsteps in a vacant 

room, 
Haunted him day and night ; a form- 
less fear 
That death to some one of his house 

was near, 
With dark surmises of a hidden 

crime, 
Made life itself a death before its time. 
Jealous, suspicious, with no sense of 

shame, 
A spy upon his daughters he became ; 
With velvet slippers, noiseless on the 

floors, 
He glided softly through half-open 

doors ; 6c 

Now in the room, and now upon the 

stair, 
He stood beside them ere they were 

aware ; 
He listened in the passage when they 

talked, 
He watched them from the casement 

when they walked, 
He saw the gypsy haunt the river's 

side, 
He saw the monk among the cork- 
trees glide ; 
And, tortured by the mystery and the 

doubt 
Of some dark secret, past his finding 

out, 
Baffled he paused; then reassured 

again 
Pursued the flying phantom of his 

brain. 70 

He watched them even when they 

knelt in church ; 
And then, descending lower in his 

search, 
Questioned the servants, and with 

eager eyes 
Listened incredulous to their replies ; 
The gypsy ? none had seen her in the 

wood ! 
The monk? a mendicant in search of 

food! 



At length the awful revelation came, 

Crushing at once his pride of birth 
and name ; 

The hopes his yearning bosom for- 
ward cast 

And the ancestral glories of the past, 

All fell together, crumbling in dis- 
grace, 81 

A turret rent from battlement to base. 

His daughters talking in the dead of 
night 

In their own chamber, and without a 
light, 

Listening, as he was wont, he over- 
heard, 

And learned the dreadful secret, word 
by word ; 

And hurrying from his castle, with a 
cry . . 

He raised his hands to the unpitying 
sky, 

Repeating one dread word, till bush 
and tree 

Caught it, and shuddering answered, 
" Heresy ! " 90 

Wrapped in his cloak, his hat drawn 

o'er his face, 
Now hurrying forward, now with 

lingering pace, 
He walked all night the alleys of his 

park. 
With one unseen companion in the 

dark, 
The demon who within him lay in 

wait 
And by his presence turned his love 

to hate, 
Forever muttering in an undertone, 
" Kill ! kill ! and let the Lord find out 

his own ! " 

Upon the morrow, after early mass, 
While yet the dew was glistening on 

the grass, 100 

And all the woods were musical with 

birds, 
The old Hidalgo, uttering fearful 

words, 
Walked homeward with the Priest, 

and in his room 
Summoned his trembling daughters to 

their doom. 
When questioned, with brief answers 

they replied, 
Nor when accused evaded or denied ; 



THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE 



297 



Expostulations, passionate appeals, 

All that the human heart most fears 
or feels, 

In vain the Priest with earnest voice 
essayed ; 

In vain the father threatened, wept, 
and prayed; no 

Until at last he said, with haughty 
mien, 

" The Holy Office, then, must inter- 
vene ! " 

And now the Grand Inquisitor of 
Spain, 

With all the fifty horsemen of his train, 

His awful name resounding, like the 
blast 

Of funeral trumpets, as he onward 
passed, 

Came to Valladolid. and there began 

To harry the rich Jews with fire and 
ban. 

To him the Hidalgo went, and at the 
gate 

Demanded audience on affairs of 
state, 120 

And in a secret chamber stood be- 
fore 

A venerable graybeard of fourscore, 

Dressed in the hood and habit of a 
friar ; 

Out of his eyes flashed a consuming 
fire, 

And in his hand the mystic horn he 
held, 

Which poison and all noxious charms 
dispelled. 

He heard in silence the Hidalgo's tale, 

Then answered in a voice that made 
him quail : 

" Son of the Church ! when Abraham 
of old 

To sacrifice his only son was told, 130 

He did not pause to parley nor pro- 
test, 

But hastened to obey the Lord's be- 
hest. 

In him it was accounted righteous- 
ness; 

The Holy Church expects of thee no 
less ! " 

A sacred frenzy seized the father's 

brain, 
And Mercy from that hour implored 

in vain. 



Ah! who will e'er believe the words I 
say? 

His daughters he accused, and the 
same day 

They both were cast into the dun- 
geon's gloom, 

That dismal antechamber of the 
tomb, 140 

Arraigned, condemned, and sentenced 
to the flame, 

The secret torture and the public shame. 

Then to the Grand Inquisitor once 

more 
The Hidalgo went more eager than 

before, 
And said: "When Abraham offered 

up his son, 
He clave the wood wherewith it might 

be done. 
By his example taught, let me too 

bring 
Wood from the forest for my offer- 
ing!" 
And the deep voice, without a pause, 

replied : 
"Son of the Church! by faith now 

justified, 150 

Complete thy sacrifice, even as thou 

wilt; 
The Church absolves thy conscience 

from all guilt ! " 

Then this most wretched father went 

his way 
Into the woods, that round his castle 

lay, 
Where once his daughters in their 

childhood played 
With their young mother in the sun 

and shade. 
Now all the leaves had fallen; the 

branches bare 
Made a perpetual moaning in the air, 
And screaming from their eyries over- 
head 
The ravens sailed athwart the sky of 

lead. 16a 

With his own hands he lopped the 

boughs and bound 
Fagots, that crackled with foreboding 

sound, 
And on his mules, caparisoned and 

gay 
With bells and tassels, sent them on 

their way. 



298 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Then with his mind on one dark pur- 
pose bent, 

Again to the Inquisitor he went, 

And said: " Behold, the fagots I have 
brought, 

And now, lest my atonement be as 
naught, 

Grant me one more request, one last 
desire, — 

With my own hand to light the fu- 
neral fire!" 170 

And Torquemada answered from his 
seat, 

" Son of the Church! Thine offering 
is complete ; 

Her servants through all ages shall not 
cease 

To magnify thy deed. Depart in 
peace ! " 



Upon the market-place, builded of 

stone 
The scaffold rose, whereon Death 

claimed his own. 
At the four corners, in stern atti- 
tude, 
Four statues of the Hebrew Prophets 

stood, 
Gazing with calm indifference in their 

eyes 
Upon this place of human sacrifice, 180 
Eound which was gathering fast the 

eager crowd, 
With clamor of voices dissonant and 

loud, 
And every roof and window was 

alive 
With restless gazers, swarming like a 

hive. 




■ Then to the Grand Inquisitor once more 
The Hidalgo went more eager than before " 



THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE 



299 



The church-bells tolled, the chant of 

monks drew near, 
Loud trumpets stammered forth their 

notes of fear, 
A line of torches smoked along the 

street, 
There was a stir, a rush, a tramp of 

feet, 



Lighted in haste the fagots, and then 

fled, 
Lest those imploring eyes should strike 

him dead ! 
O pitiless skies ! why did your clouds 

retain 
For peasants' fields their floods of 

hoarded rain? 200 




Slowly the long procession crossed the square " 



And, with its banners floating in the 

air, 
Slowly the long procession crossed 

the square, 190 

And, to the statues of the Prophets 

bound, 
The victims stood, with fagots piled 

around. 
Then all the air a blast of trumpets 

shook, 
And louder sang the monks with bell 

and book, 
And the Hidalgo, lofty, stern, and 

proud, 
Lifted his torch, and, bursting through 

the crowd, 



O pitiless earth ! why opened no 

abyss 
To bury" in its chasm a crime like 

this? 

That night, a mingled column of fire 

and smoke 
From the dark thickets of the forest 

broke, 
And, glaring o'er the landscape leagues 

away, 
Made all the fields and hamlets bright 

as day. 
Wrapped in a sheet of flame the castle 

blazed, 
And as the villagers in terror gazed, 



3°° 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



They saw the figure of that cruel 
knight 

Lean from a window in the turret's 
height, 210 

His ghastly face illumined with the 
glare, 

His hands upraised above his head in 
prayer, 

Till the floor sank beneath him, and 
he fell 

Down the black hollow of that burn- 
ing well. 

Three centuries and more above his 

bones 
Have piled the oblivious years like 

funeral stones ; 
His name has perished with him, and 

no trace 
Remains on earth of his afflicted 

race; 
But Torquemada's name, with clouds 

o'ercast, 
Looms in the distant landscape of the 

Past, 220 

Like a burnt tower upon a blackened 

heath, 
Lit by the fires of burning woods be- 
neath ! 



INTERLUDE 

Thus closed the tale of guilt and 

gloom, 
That cast upon each listener's face 
Its shadow, and for some brief space 
Unbroken silence filled the room. 
The Jew was thoughtful and dis- 
tressed ; 
Upon his memory thronged and 

pressed 
The persecution of his race, 
Their wrongs and sufferings and dis- 
grace ; 
His head was sunk upon his breast, 
And from his eyes alternate came 10 
Flashes of wrath and tears of shame. 

The Student first the silence broke, 
As one who long has lain in wait, 
With purpose to retaliate, 
And thus he dealt the avenging 

stroke. 
" In such a company as this, 
A tale so tragic seems amiss, 



That by its terrible control 
O'ermasters and drags down the soul 
Into a fathomless abyss. 2* 

The Italian Tales that you disdain, 
Some merry Night of Straparole, 
Or Machiavellfs Belphagor, 
Would cheer us and delight us more, 
Give greater pleasure and less pain 
Than your grim tragedies of Spain! " 

And here the Poet raised his hand, 
With such entreaty and command, 
It stopped discussion at its birth, 
And said : * ' The story I shall tell 30 
Has meaning in it, if not mirth ; 
Listen, and hear what once befell 
The merry birds of Killingworth ! " 



THE POET'S TALE 

THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH 

It was the season, when through all 
the land 
The merle and mavis build, and 
building sing 
Those lovely lyrics, written by His 
hand, 
Whom Saxon , Csedmon calls the 
. Blith e-heart King ; 
When on the boughs the purple buds 
expand, 
The banners of the vanguard of the 
Spring, 
And rivulets, rejoicing, rush and 

leap, 
And wave their fluttering signals from 
the steep. 

The robin and the bluebird, piping 

loud, 
Filled all the blossoming orchards 

with their glee; 10 

The sparrows chirped as if they still 

were proud 
Their race in Holy Writ should 

mentioned be ; 
And hungry crows, assembled in a 

crowd, 
Clamored their piteous prayer inces- 
santly, 
Knowing who hears the ravens cry, 

and said : 
" Give us, O Lord, this day our daily 

bread ! " 



THE POET'S TALE 



301 



Across the Sound the birds of passage 

sailed, 
Speaking some unknown language 

strange and sweet 
Of tropic isle remote, and passing 

hailed 
The village with the cheers of all 

their fleet ; 20 

Or quarrelling together, laughed and 

railed 
Like foreign sailors, landed in the 

street 
Of seaport town, and with outlandish 

noise 
Of oaths and gibberish frightening 

girls and boys. 

Thus came the jocund Spring in Kil- 
lingworth, 
In fabulous days, some hundred 
years ago ; 



And thrifty farmers, as they tilled the 

earth, 
Heard with alarm the cawing of the 

crow, 
That mingled with the universal 

mirth, 
Cassandra-like, prognosticating woe ; 
They shook their heads, and doomed 

with dreadful words 31 

To swift destruction the whole race of 

birds. 

And a town-meeting was convened 
straightway 
To set a price upon the guilty heads 
Of these marauders, who, in lieu of 
pay, 
Levied black-mail upon the garden 
beds 
And cornfields, and beheld without 
dismay 




■jft 



Thus came the jocund Spring in Killingworth, 
In fabulous days, some hundred years ago " 



302 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



The awful scarecrow, with his 
fluttering shreds ; 

The skeleton that waited at their 
feast, 

Whereby their sinful pleasure was in- 
creased. 4« 

Then from his house, a temple painted 

white, 
With fluted columns, and a roof of 

red, 
The Squire came forth, august and 

splendid sight! 
Slowly descending, with majestic 

tread, 
Three flights of steps, nor looking left 

nor right, 
Down the long street he walked, as 

one who said, 
"A town that boasts inhabitants like 

me 
Can have no lack of good society ! " 

The Parson, too, appeared, a man 

austere, 
The instinct of whose nature was to 

kill ; 50 

The wrath of God he preached from 

year to year, 
And read, with fervor, Edwards on 

the Will; 
His favorite pastime was to slay the 

deer 
In Summer on some Adirondac hill ; 
E'en now, while walking down the 

rural lane, 
He lopped the wayside lilies with his 

cane. 

From the Academy, whose belfry 

crowned 

The hill of Science with its vane of 

brass, 

Came the Preceptor, gazing idly round, 

Now at the clouds, and now at the 

green grass, 60 

And all absorbed in reveries profound 

Of fair Almira in the upper class, 
Who was, as in a sonnet he had said, 
As pure as water, and as good as bread. 

And next the Deacon issued from his 
door, 
In his voluminous neck-cloth, white 
as snow ; 
A suit of sable bombazine he wore ; 



His form was ponderous, and his 
step was slow ; 
There never was so wise a man be- 
•fore ; 
He seemed the incarnate "Well, I 
told you so ! " 70 

And to perpetuate his great renown 
There was a street named after him in 
town. 

These came together in the new town- 
hall, 
With sundry farmers from the re- 
gion round. 
The Squire presided,dignified and tall, 
His air impressive and his reasoning 
sound ; 
111 fared it with the birds, both great 
and small ; 
Hardly a friend in all that crowd 
they found, 
But enemies enough, who every one 
Charged them with all the crimes be- 
neath the sun. 80 

When they had ended, from his place 

apart 
Rose the Preceptor, to redress the 

wrong, 
And, trembling like a steed before 

the start, 
Looked round bewildered on the 

expectant throng ; 
Then thought of fair Almira, and took 

heart 
To speak out what was in him, 

clear and strong, 
Alike regardless of their smile or 

frown, 
And quite determined not to be 

laughed down. 

" Plato, anticipating the Reviewers, 
From his Republic banished without 
pity 90 

The Poets ; in this little town of yours, 
You put to death, by means of a 
Committee, 
The ballad-singers and the Trouba- 
dours, 
The street-musicians of the hea- 
venly city, 
The birds, who make sweet music for 

us all 
In our dark hours, as David did for 
Saul. 



THE POET'S TALE 



303 




Alike regardless of their smile or frown, 

And quite determined not to be laughed down ' 



" The thrush that carols at the dawn 
of day 
From the green steeples of the piny 
wood; 

The oriole in the elm ; the noisy jay, 
Jargoning like a foreigner at his 
food ; 100 

The bluebird balanced on some top- 
most spray, 
Flooding with melody the neighbor- 
hood ; 

Linnet and meadow -lark, and all the 
throng 

That dwell in nests, and have the gift 
of song. 

' ' You slay them all ! and wherefore ? 

for the gain 
Of a scant handful more or less of 

wheat, 
Or rye, or barley, or some other grain, 



Scratched up at random by industri- 
ous feet, 

Searching for worm or weevil after 
rain ! 
Or a few cherries, that are not so 
sweet no 

As are the songs these uninvited 
guests 

Sing at their feast with comfortable 
breasts. 

" Do you ne'er think what wondrous 
beings these ? 
Do you ne'er think who made them, 
and who taught 

The dialect they speak, where melo- 
dies 
Alone are the interpreters of 
thought ? 

Whose household words are songs in 
many keys, 



3°4 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Sweeter than instrument of man 

e'er caught ! 
Whose habitations in the tree-tops 

even 
Are half-way houses on the road to 

heaven-! 120 

' ' Think, every morning when the sun 
peeps through 
The dim, leaf -latticed windows of 
the grove, 

How jubilant the happy birds renew 
Their old, melodious madrigals of 
love! 

And when you think of this, remem- 
ber too 
'T is always morning somewhere, 
and above 

The awakening continents, from shore 
to shore, 

Somewhere the birds are singing ever- 
more. 

"Think of your woods and orchards 

without birds ! 
Of empty nests that cling to boughs 

and beams 130 

As in an idiot's brain remembered 

words 
Hang empty 'mid the cobwebs of his 

dreams ! 
Will bleat of flocks or bellowing of 

herds 
Make up for the lost music, when 

your teams 
Drag home -the stingy harvest, and no 

more 
The feathered gleaners follow to your 

door ? 

" What! would you rather see the in- 
cessant stir 
Of insects in the windrows of the 
hay, 

And hear the locust and the grasshop- 
per 
Their melancholy hurdy-gurdies 
play ? 140 

Is this more pleasant to you than the 
whir 
Of meadow-lark, and her sweet 
roundelay, 

Or twitter of little field-fares, as you 
take 

Your nooning in the shade of bush 
and brake ? 



"You call them thieves and pillagers; 
but know, 
They are the winged wardens of 
your farms, 
Who from the cornfields drive the in- 
sidious foe, 
And from your harvests keep a hun- 
dred harms ; 
Even the blackest of them all, the crow, 
Renders good service as your man- 
at-arms, 150 
Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail, 
And crying havoc on the slug and 
snail. 

" How can I teach your children gen- 
tleness, 
And mercy to the weak, and rever- 
ence 

For Life, which, in its weakness or ex- 
cess, 
Is still a gleam of God's omnipo- 
tence, 

Or Death, which, seeming darkness, 
is no less 
The selfsame light, although averted 
hence, 

When by your laws, your actions, and 
your speech, 

You contradict the very things I 
teach ? " 160 

With this he closed ; and through the 

audience went 
A murmur, like the rustle of dead 

leaves ; 
The farmers laughed and nodded, and 

some bent 
Their yellow heads together like 

their sheaves ; 
Men have no faith in fine-spun senti- 
ment 
Who put their trust in bullocks and 

in beeves. 
The birds were doomed ; and, as the 

record shows, 
A bounty offered for the heads of 

crows. 

There was another audience out of 
reach, 
Who had no voice nor vote in mak- 
ing laws, 170 
But in the papers read his little speech, 
And crowned his modest temples 
with applause ; 



THE POET'S TALE 



305 



They made him conscious, each one 

more than each, 
He still was victor, vanquished in 

their cause. 
Sweetest of all the applause he won 

from thee, 
O fair Almira at the Academy ! 

And so the dreadful massacre be- 
gan ; 
O'er fields and orchards, and o'er 
woodland crests, 
The ceaseless fusillade of terror ran. 
Dead fell the birds, with blood- 
stains on their breasts, 180 
Or wounded crept away from sight 
of man, 
While the young died of famine in 
their nests ; 
A slaughter to be told in groans, not 

words, 
The very St. Bartholomew of Birds ! 

The Summer came, and all the birds 

were dead ; 
The days were like hot coals; the 

very ground 
Was burned to ashes ; in the orchards 

fed 
Myriads of caterpillars, and around 
The cultivated fields and garden 

beds 
Hosts of devouring insects crawled, 

and found 190 

No foe to check their march, till they 

had made 
The land a desert without leaf or 

shade. 

Devoured by worms, like Herod, was 
the town, 
Because, like Herod, it had ruth- 
lessly 
Slaughtered the Innocents. From the 
trees spun dowm 
The canker-worms upon the passers- 

by, 

Upon each woman's bonnet, shawl, 

and gown, 
Who shook them off with just a 

little cry ; 
They were the terror of each favorite 

walk, 
The endless theme of all the village 

talk. 200 



The farmers grew impatient, but a 
few 
Confessed their error, and would 
not complain, 
For after all, the best thing one can do 

When it is raining, is to let it rain. 
Then they repealed the law, although 
they knew 
It would not call the dead to life 
again ; 
As school-boys, finding their mistake 

too late, 
Draw a wet sponge across the accus- 
ing slate. 

That year in Killingworth the Autumn 

came 
Without the light of his majestic 

look, 210 

The wonder of the falling tongues of 

flame, 
The illumined pages of his Doom's- 

Day book. 
A few lost leaves blushed crimson 

with their shame, 
And drowned themselves despairing 

in the brook, 
While the wild wind went moaning 

everywhere, 
Lamenting the dead children of the 

air! 

But the next Spring a stranger sight 

was seen, 
A sight that never yet by bard was 

sung, 
As great a wonder as it would have 

been 
If some dumb animal had found a 

tongue ! 220 

A wagon, overarched with evergreen, 

Upon whose boughs were wicker 

cages hung, 
All full of singing birds, came down 

the street, 
Filling the air with music wild and 

sweet. 

From all the country round these 
birds were brought, 
By order of the town, with anxious 
quest, 
And, loosened from their wicker 
prisons, sought 
In woods and fields the places they 
loved best, 



3°6 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Singing loud canticles, which many 
thought 
Were satires to the authorities ad- 
dressed, 230 

While others, listening in green lanes, 
averred 

Such lovely music never had been 
heard ! 

But blither still and louder carolled 

they 
Upon the morrow, for they seemed 

to know 
It was the fair Almira's wedding-day, 
And everywhere, around, above, 

below, 
When the Preceptor bore his bride 

away, 
Their songs burst forth in joyous 

overflow, 
And a new heaven bent over a new 

earth 
Amid the sunny farms of Killing- 
worth. 240 

FINALE 

The hour was late; the fire burned 

low, 
The Landlord's eyes were closed in 

sleep, 
And near the story's end a deep, 
Sonorous sound at times was heard, 
As when the distant bagpipes blow. 
At this all laughed ; the Landlord 

stirred, 
As one awaking from a swound, 
And, gazing anxiously around, 
Protested that he had not slept, 
But only shut his eyes, and kept 10 
His ears attentive to each word. 

Then all arose, and said ' ' Good 

Night." 
Alone remained the drowsy Squire 
To rake the embers of the fire, 
And quench the waning parlor light ; 
While from the windows, here and 

there, 
The scattered lamps a moment 

gleamed, 
And the illumined hostel seemed 
The constellation of the Bear, 
Downward, athwart the misty air, 20 
Sinking and setting toward the sun. 
Far off the village clock struck one. 



PART SECOND 

PRELUDE 

A cold, uninterrupted rain, 
That washed each southern window- 
pane, 
And made a river of the road ; 
A sea of mist that overflowed 
The house, the barns, the gilded vane, 
And drowned the upland and the plain, 
Through which the oak-trees, broad 

and high, 
Like phantom ships went drifting by; 
And, hidden behind a watery screen, 
The sun unseen, or only seen 10 

As a faint pallor in the sky ; — 
Thus cold and colorless and gray, 
The morn of that autumnal day, 
As if reluctant to begin, 
Dawned on the silent Sudbury Inn, 
And all the guests that in it lay. 

Full late they slept. They did not hear 
The challenge of Sir Chanticleer, 
Who on the empty threshing-floor, 
Disdainful of the rain outside, 2© 

Was strutting with a martial stride, 
As if upon his thigh he wore 
The famous broadsword of the Squire, 
And said, " Behold me, and admire! ' 

Only the Poet seemed to hear, 

In drowse or dream, more near and 

near 
Across the border-land of sleep, 
The blowing of a blithesome horn, 
That laughed the dismal day to scorn 
A splash of hoofs and rush of wheels 
Through sand and mire like stranding 

keels, 3 j 

As from the road with sudden sweep 
The Mail drove up the little steep, 
And stopped beside the tavern door ; 
A moment stopped, and then again 
With crack of whip and bark of dog 
Plunged forward through the sea of 

fog, 
And all was silent as before, — 
All silent save the dripping rain. 

Then one by one the guests came 
down, 40 

And greeted with a smile the Squire, 
Who sat before the parlor fire, 
Reading the paper fresh from town. 



THE POET'S TALE 



307 



First the Sicilian, like a bird, 
Before his form appeared, was heard 
Whistling and singing down the stair ; 
Then came the Student, with a look 
As placid as a meadow-brook; 
The Theologian, still perplexed 
With thoughts of this world and the 
next ; 50 

The Poet then, as one who seems 
Walking in visions and in dreams ; 
Then the Musician, like a fair 
Hyperion from whose golden hair 
The radiance of the morning streams ; 
And last the aromatic Jew 
Of Alicant, who, as he threw 
The door wide open, on the air 
Breathed round about him a perfume 
Of damask roses in full bloom, 60 

Making a garden of the room. 



By far the busiest of them all, 
The Theologian in the hall 
Was feeding robins in a cage, — 
Two corpulent and lazy birds, 
Vagrants and pilferers at best, 
If one might trust the hostler's words, 
Chief instrument of their arrest ; 
Two poets of the Golden Age, 
Heirs of a boundless heritage 
Of fields and orchards, east and west, 
And sunshine of long summer days, 
Though outlawed now and dispos- 
sessed ! — 82 
Such was the Theologian's phrase. 

Meanwhile the Student held discourse 
With the Musician, on the source 
Of all the legendary lore 
Among the nations, scattered wide 




..." leafless branches, and the air 
Filled with the arrows of the rain" 



The breakfast ended, each pursued 
The promptings of his various mood 
Beside the fire in silence smoked 
The taciturn, impassive Jew, 
Lost in a pleasant revery ; 
While, by his gravity provoked, 
His portrait the Sicilian drew, 
And wrote beneath it "Edrehi, 
At the Red Horse in Sudbury." - t 



Like silt and seaweed by the force 

And fluctuation of the tide ; 

The tale repeated o'er and o'er, 90 

With change of place and change of 
name, 

Disguised, transformed, and yet the 
same 

We've heard a hundred times be- 
fore. 



3 o8 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



The Poet at the window mused, 
And saw, as in a dream confused, 
The countenance of the Sun, dis- 
crowned, 
And haggard with a pale despair, 
And saw the cloud-rack trail and drift 
Before it, and the trees uplift 
Their leafless branches, and the air ioo 
Filled with the arrows of the rain, 
And heard amid the mist below, 
Like voices of distress and pain, 
That haunt the thoughts of men insane, 
The fateful cawings of the crow. 

Then down the road, with mud be- 
sprent, 
And drenched with rain from head to 

hoof, 
The rain-drops dripping from his mane 
And tail as from a pent-house roof, 
A jaded horse, his head down bent, no 
Passed slowly, limping as he went. 

The young Sicilian — who had grown 
Impatient longer to abide 
A prisoner, greatly mortified 
To see completely overthrown 
His plans for angling in the brook, 
And, leaning o'er the bridge of stone, 
To watch the speckled trout glide by, 
And float through the inverted sky, 
Still round and round the baited 

hook — 1 20 

Now paced the room with rapid stride, 
And, pausing at the Poet's side, 
Looked forth, and saw the wretched 

steed, 
And said : " Alas for human greed, 
That with cold hand and stony eye 
Thus turns an old friend out to die, 
Or beg his food from gate to gate ! 
This brings a tale into my mind, 
Which, if you are not disinclined 
To listen, I will now relate." 130 

All gave assent ; all wished to hear, 
Not without many a jest and jeer, 
The story of a spavined steed ; 
And even the Student with the rest 
Put in his pleasant little jest 
Out of Malherbe, that Pegasus 
Is but a horse that with all speed 
Bears poets to the hospital ; 
While the Sicilian, self-possessed, 
After a moment's interval 140 

Began his simple story thus. 



THE SICILIAN'S TALE 

THE BELL OF ATRI 

At Atri in Abruzzo, a small town 
Of ancient Roman date, but scant re 

nown, 
One of those little places that have run 
Half up the hill, beneath a blazing 

sun, 
And then sat down to rest, as if to 

say, 
"I climb no farther upward, come 

what may," — 
The Re Giovanni, now unknown to 

fame, 
So many monarchs since have borne 

the name, 
Had a great bell hung in the market- 
place, 
Beneath a roof, projecting some small 

space 10 

By way of shelter from the sun and 

rain. 
Then rode he through the streets with 

all his train, 
And, with the blast of trumpets loud 

and long, 
Made proclamation, that whenever 

wrong 
Was done to any man, he should but 

ring 
The great bell in the square, and he, 

the King, 
Would cause the Syndic to decide 

thereon. 
Such was the proclamation of King 

John. 

How swift the happy days in Atri 

sped, 
What wrongs were righted, need not 

here be said, 20 

Suffice it that, as all things must decay, 
The hempen rope at length was worn 

away, 
Unravelled at the end, and, strand by 

strand, 
Loosened and wasted in the ringer's 

hand, 
Till one, who noted this in passing 

by, 

Mended the rope with braids of briony, 
So that the leaves and tendrils of the 

vine 
Hung like a votive garland at a shrine. 



THE SICILIAN'S TALE 



309 




By chance it happened that in Atri 

dwelt 
A knight, with spur on heel and sword 

in belt, 30 

Who loved to hunt the wild-boar in 

the woods, 
Who loved his falcons with their crim- 
son hoods, 
Who loved his hounds and horses, and 

all sports 
And prodigalities of camps and 

courts ; — 
Loved, or had loved them ; for at last, 

grown old, 
His only passion was the love of 

gold. 

He sold his horses, sold his hawks and 

hounds, 
Rented his vineyards and his garden - 

grounds, 
Kept but one steed, his favorite steed 

of all, 
To starve and shiver in a naked 

stall, 



And day by day sat brooding in his 
chair 41 

Devising plans how best to hoard 
and spare. 

At length he said : "What is the use 

or need 
To keep at my own cost this lazy 

steed, 
Eating his head off in my stables here, 
When rents are low and provender is 

dear? 
Let him go feed upon the public ways ; 
I want him only for the holidays." 
So the old steed was turned into the 

heat 
Of the long, lonely, silent, shadeless 

street ; 50 

And wandered in suburban lanes for- 
lorn, 
Barked at by dogs, and torn by brier 

and thorn. 

One afternoon, as in that sultry clime 
It is the custom in the summer time, 
With bolted doors and window-shut- 
ters closed, 
The inhabitants of Atri slept or dozed ; 
When suddenly upon their senses 

fell 
The loud alarm of the accusing bell ! 



3io 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



The Syndic started from his deep re- 
pose, 

Turned on his couch, and listened, and 
then rose 60 

And donned his robes, and with reluc- 
tant pace 

Went panting forth into the market- 
place, 

Where the great bell upon its cross- 
beams swung, 

Reiterating with persistent tongue, 

In half -articulate jargon, the old song: 

" Some one hath done a wrong, hath 
done a wrong ! " 

But ere he reached the belfry's light 
arcade 

He saw, or thought he saw, beneath 
its shade, 

No shape of human form of woman 
born, 

But a poor steed dejected and for- 
lorn, 70 

Who with uplifted head and eager 
eye 

Was tugging at the vines of briony. 

" Domeneddio ! " cried the Syndic 
straight, 

" This is the Knight of Atri's steed of 
state ! 

He calls for justice, being sore dis- 
tressed, 

And pleads his cause as loudly as the 
best." 

Meanwhile from street and lane a noisy 

crowd 
Had rolled together like a summer 

cloud, 
And told the story of the wretched 

beast 
In five-and-twenty different ways at 

least, 80 

With much gesticulation and appeal 
To heathen gods, in their excessive 

zeal. 
The Knight was called and ques- 
tioned ; in reply 
Did not confess the fact, did not 

deny; 
Treated the matter as a pleasant jest, 
And set at naught the Syndic and the 

rest, 
Maintaining, in an angry undertone, 
That he should do what pleased him 

with his own. 



And thereupon the Syndic gravely 

read 
The proclamation of the King; then 

said : go 

"Pride goeth forth on horseback 

grand and gay, 
But cometh back on foot, and begs its 

way; 
Fame is the fragrance of heroic deeds, 
Of flowers of chivalry and not of 

weeds ! 
These are familiar proverbs ; but I fear 
They never yet have reached your 

knightly ear. 
What fair renown, what honor, what 

repute 
Can come to you from starving this 

poor brute ? 
He who serves well and speaks not, 

merits more 
Than they who clamor loudest at the 

door. 100 

Therefore the law decrees that as this 

steed 
Served you in youth, henceforth you 

shall take heed 
To comfort his old age, and to provide 
Shelter in stall, and food and field be- 
side." 

The Knight withdrew abashed ; the 

people all 
Led home the steed in triumph to his 

stall. 
The King heard and approved, and 

laughed in glee, 
And cried aloud : ' ' Right well it 

pleaseth me ! 
Church-bells at best but ring us to the 

door ; 
But go not in to mass ; my bell doth 

more: no 

It cometh into court and pleads the 

cause 
Of creatures dumb and unknown to 

the laws ; 
And this shall make, in every Chris- 
tian clime, 
The Bell of Atri famous for all time." 

INTERLUDE 

" Yes, well your story pleads the 

cause 
Of those dumb mouths that have no 

speech, 



THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE 



3ii 



Only a cry from each to each 
In its own kind, with its own laws ; 
Something that is beyond the reach 
Of human power to learn or teach, — 
An inarticulate moan of pain, 
Like the immeasurable main 
Breaking upon an unknown beach." 

Thus spake the Poet with a sigh ; 10 
Then added, with impassioned cry, 
As one who feels the words he speaks, 
The color flushing in his cheeks, 
The fervor burning in his eye : 
" Among the noblest in the land, 
Though he may count himself the 

least, 
That man I honor and revere 
"Who without favor, without fear, 
In the great city dares to stand 
The friend of every friendless beast, 20 
And tames with his unflinching hand 
The brutes that wear our form and 

face, 
The were-wolves of the human race ! " 
Then paused, and waited with a frown, 
Like some old champion of romance, 
Who, having thrown his gauntlet 

down, 
Expectant leans upon his lance; 
But neither Knight nor Squire is 

found 28 

To raise the gauntlet from the ground, 
And try with him the battle's chance. 

' ' Wake from your dreams, O Edrehi ! 
Or dreaming speak to us, and make 
A feint of being half awake, 
And tell us what your dreams may be. 
Out of the hazy atmosphere 
Of cloud-land deign to reappear 
Among us in this Wayside Inn; 
Tell us what visions and what scenes 
Illuminate the dark ravines 
In which you grope your way. Be- 
gin!" 40 

Thus the Sicilian spake. The Jew 
Made no reply, but only smiled, 
As men unto a wayward child, 
Not knowing what to answer, do. 
As from a cavern's mouth, o'er- 

grown 
With moss and intertangled vines, 
A streamlet leaps into the light 
And murmurs over root and stone 
In a melodious undertone ; 
Or as amid the noonday night 50 



Of sombre and wind-haunted pines 

There runs a sound as of the sea ; 

So from his bearded lips there came 

A melody without a name, 

A song, a tale, a history, 

Or whatsoever it may be, 

Writ and recorded in these lines. 

THE SPANISH JEWS TALE 

KAMBALU 

Into the city of Kambalu, 
By the road that leadeth to Ispahan, 
At the head of his dusty caravan, 
Laden with treasure from realms afar, 
Baldacca and Kelat and Kandahar, 
Rode the great captain Alau. 

The Khan from his palace-window 

gazed, 
And saw in the thronging street be- 
neath, 
In the light of the setting sun, that 

blazed 
Through the clouds of dust by the 

caravan raised, 10 

The flash of harness and jewelled 

sheath, 
And the shining scimitars of the 

guard, 
And the weary camels that bared 

their teeth, 
As they passed and passed through 

the gates unbarred 
Into the shade of the palace-yard. 

Thus into the city of Kambalu 
Rode the great captain Alau ; 
And he stood before the Khan, and said: 
" The enemies of my lord are dead; 
All the Kalifs of all the West 20 

Bow and obey thy least behest ; 
The plains are dark with the mul- 
berry-trees, 
The weavers are busy in Samarcand, 
The miners are sifting the golden sand, 
The divers plunging for pearls in the 

seas, 
And peace and plenty are in the land. 

; ' Baldacca's Kalif , and he alone, 
Rose in revolt against thy throne : 
His treasures are at thy palace-door, 
With the swords and the shawls and 
the jewels he wore ; 30 

His body is dust o'er the desert blown. 



312 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



" A mile outside of Baldacca's gate 

I left my forces to lie in wait, 

Concealed by forests and hillocks of 
sand, 

And forward dashed with a handful 
of men, 

To lure the old tiger from his den 

Into the ambush I had planned. 

Ere we reached the town the alarm 
was spread, 

For we heard the sound of gongs from 
within ; 

And with clash of cymbals and war- 
like din 40 

The gates swung wide ; and we turned 
and fled ; 

And the garrison sallied forth and 
pursued, 

With the gray old Kalif at their head, 

And above them the banner of Moham- 
med: 

So we snared them all, and the town 
was subdued. 

" As in at the gate we rode, behold, 

A tower that is called the Tower of 
Gold! 

For there the Kalif had hidden his 
wealth, 

Heaped and hoarded and piled on 
high, 

Like sacks of wheat in a granary ; 50 

And thither the miser crept by stealth 

To feel of the gold that gave him 
health, 

And to gaze and gloat with his hungry 
eye 

On jewels that gleamed like a glow- 
worm's spark, 

Or the eyes of a panther in the dark. 

' ' I said to the Kalif : ' Thou art old, 
Thou hast no need of so much gold. 
Thou shouldst not have heaped and 

hidden it here, 
Till the breath of battle was hot and 

near, 
But have sown through the land these 

useless hoards 60 

To spring into shining blades of 

swords, 
And keep thine honor sweet and clear. 
These grains of gold are not grains of 

wheat ; 
These bars of silver thou canst not 

eat ; 



These jewels and pearls and precious 

stones 
Cannot cure the aches in thy bones, 
Nor keep the feet of Death one hour 
From climbing the stairways of thy 

tower!' 

" Then into his dungeon I locked the 

drone, 
And left him to feed there all alone 70 
In the honey-cells of his golden hive; 
Never a prayer, nor a cry, nor a groan 
Was heard from those massive walls 

of stone, 
Nor again was the Kalif seen alive! 

" When at last we unlocked the door, 
We found him dead upon the floor ; 
The rings had dropped from his with- 
ered hands, 
His teeth were like bones in the desert 

sands : 
Still clutching his treasure he had 

died ; 
And as he lay there, he appeared 80 
A statue of gold with a silver beard, 
His arms outstretched as if crucified." 

This is the story, strange and true, 
That the great captain Alau 
Told to his brother the Tartar Khan, 
When he rode that day into Kambalu 
By the road that leadeth to Ispahan. 

INTERLUDE 

"I thought before your tale began," 
The Student murmured, " we should 

have 
Some legend written by Judah Rav 
In his Gemara of Babylon ; 
Or something from the Gulistan, — 
The tale of the Cazy of Hamadan, 
Or of that King of Khorasan 
Who saw in dreams the eyes of one 
That had a hundred years been dead 
Still moving restless in his head, 10 
Undimmed, and gleaming with the 

lust 
Of power, though all the rest was 

dust. 

" But lo ! your glittering caravan 
On the road that leadeth to Ispahan 
Hath led us farther to the East 
Into the regions of Cathay. 



THE STUDENT'S TALE 



3*3 



Spite of your Kalif and his gold, 
Pleasant has been the tale you told, 
And full of color ; that at least 
No one will question or gainsay. 
And yet on such a dismal day 
We need a merrier tale to clear 
The dark and heavy atmosphere. 
So listen, Lordlings, while I tell, 
Without a preface, what befell 
A simple cobbler, in the year — 
No matter ; it was long ago ; 
And that is all we need to know. " 



THE STUDENT'S TALE 

THE COBBLER OF HAGENAU 

I trust that somewhere and somehow 
You all have heard of Hagenau, 
A quiet, quaint, and ancient town 
Among the green Alsatian hills, 
A place of valleys, streams, and mills, 
Where Barbarossa's castle, brown 
With rust of centuries, still looks down 
On the broad, drowsy land below, — 




As in at the gate we rode, behold, 

A tower that is called the Tower of Gold ! 



3H 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



On shadowy forests rilled with game, 
And the blue river winding slow 10 
Through meadows, where the hedges 

grow 
That give this little town its name. 

It happened in the good old times, 
While yet the Master-singers filled 
The noisy workshop and the guild 
With various melodies and rhymes, 
That here in Hagenau there dwelt 
A cobbler, — one who loved debate, 
And, arguing from a postulate, 
Would say what others only felt; 20 
A man of forecast and of thrift, % 
And of a shrewd and careful mind 
In this world's business, but inclined 
Somewhat to let the next world drift. 

Hans Sachs with vast delight he read, 
And Regenbogen's rhymes of love, 
For their poetic fame had spread 
Even to the town of Hagenau ; 
And some Quick Melody of the 

Plough, 
Or Double Harmony of the Dove 30 
Was always running in his head. 
He kept, moreover, at his side, 
Among his leathers and his tools, 
Reynard the Fox, the Ship of Fools, 
Or Eulenspiegel, open wide ; 
With these he was much edified : 
He thought them wiser than the 

Schools. 

His good wife, full of godly fear, 
Liked not these worldly themes to 

hear ; 
The Psalter was her book of songs ; 40 
The only music to her ear 
Was that which to the Church belongs, 
When the loud choir on Sunday 

chanted, 
And the two angels carved in wood, 
That by the windy organ stood, 
Blew on their trumpets loud and clear, 
And all the echoes, far and near, 
Gibbered as if the church were 

haunted. 

Outside his door, one afternoon, 
This humble votary of the muse 50 
Sat in the narrow strip of shade 
By a projecting cornice made, 
Mending the Burgomaster's shoes, 
And singing a familiar tune : — 



' ' Our ingress into the world 

Was naked and bare ; 
Our progress through the world 

Is trouble and care ; 
Our egress from the world 

Will be nobody knows where : 60 
But if we do well here 

We shall do well there ; 
And I could tell you no more, 

Should I preach a whole year ! " 

Thus sang the cobbler at his work ; 
And with his gestures marked the 

time, 
Closing together with a jerk 
Of his waxed thread the stitch and 

rhyme. 

Meanwhile his quiet little dame 
Was leaning o'er the window-sill, 70 
Eager, excited, but mouse-still, 
Gazing impatiently to see 
What the great throng of folk might be 
That onward in procession came, 
Along the unfrequented street, 
With horns that blew, and drums that 

beat, 
And banners flying, and the flame 
Of tapers, and, at times, the sweet 
Voices of nuns ; and as they sang 
Suddenly all the church-bells rang. 80 

In a gay coach, above the crowd, 
There sat a monk in ample hood, 
Who with his right hand held aloft 
A red and ponderous cross of wood, 
To which at times he meekly bowed. 
In front three horsemen rode, and oft, 
With voice and air importunate, 
A boisterous herald cried aloud : 
" The grace of God is at your gate! " 
So onward to the church they passed. 

The cobbler slowly turned his last, 91 
And, wagging his sagacious head, 
Unto his kneeling housewife said : 
" 'T is the monk'Tetzel. I have heard 
The cawings of that reverend bird. 
Don't let him cheat you of your gold; 
Indulgence is not bought and sold." 

The church of Hagenau, that night, 
Was full of people, full of light ; 
An odor of incense filled the air, 100 
The priest intoned, the organ groaned 
Its inarticulate despair ; 



THE STUDENT'S TALE 



315 



The candles on the altar blazed, 
And full in front of it upraised 
The red cross stood against the glare. 
Below, upon the altar-rail 
Indulgences were set to sale, 
Like ballads at a country fair. 
A heavy strong-box, iron-bound 
And carved with many a quaint de- 
vice, no 
Received, with a melodious sound, 
The coin that purchased Paradise. 

Then from tlie pulpit overhead, 
Tetzel the monk, with fiery glow, 
Thundered upon the crowd below. 
"Good people all, draw near!" he 

said; 
' ' Purchase these letters, signed and 

sealed, 
By which all sins, though unrevealed 
And unrepented, are forgiven! 
Count but the gain, count not the 

loss ! 
Your gold and silver are but dross, 121 
And yet they pave the way to heaven. 
I hear your mothers and your sires 
Cry from their purgatorial fires, 
And will ye not their ransom pay ? 

senseless people ! when the gate 
Of heaven is open, will ye wait ? 
Will ye not enter in to-day ? 
To-morrow it will be too late; 

1 shall be gone upon my way. 130 
Make haste ! bring money while ye 

may ! " 

The women shuddered, and turned 

pale ; 
Allured by hope or driven by fear, 
With many a sob and many a tear, 
All crowded to the altar-rail. 
Pieces of silver and of gold 
Into the tinkling strong-box fell 
Like pebbles dropped into a well; 
And soon the ballads were all sold. 
The cobbler's wife among the rest 140 
Slipped into the capacious chest 
A golden florin ; then withdrew, 
Hiding the paper in her breast ; 
And homeward through the darkness 

went 
Comforted, quieted, content ; 
She did not walk, she rather flew, 
A dove that settles to her nest, 
When some appalling bird of prey 
That scared her has been driven away. 



The days went by, the monk was gone, 
The summer passed, the winter came; 
Though seasons changed, yet still the 

same 15? 

The daily round of life went on ; 
The daily round of household care, 
The narrow life of toil and prayer. 
But in her heart the cobbler's dame 
Had now a treasure beyond price, 
A secret joy without a name, 
The certainty of Paradise. 
Alas, alas! Dust unto dust ! 160 

Before the winter wore away, 
Her body in the churchyard lay, 
Her patient soul was with the Just ! 
After her death, among the things 
That even the poor preserve with 

care, — 
Some little trinkets and cheap rings, 
A locket with her mother's hair, 
Her wedding gown, the faded flowers 
She wore upon her wedding day, — 
Among these memories of past hours, 
That so much of the heart reveal, 171 
Carefully kept and put away, 
The Letter of Indulgence lay 
Folded, with signature and seal. 

Meanwhile the Priest, aggrieved and 

pained, 
Waited and wondered that no word 
Of mass or requiem he heard, 
As by the Holy Church ordained : 
Then to the Magistrate complained, 
That as this woman Lad been dead 180 
A week or more, and no mass said, 
It was rank heresy, or at least 
Contempt of Church; thus said the 

Priest ; 
And straight the cobbler was ar- 
raigned. 

He came, confiding in his cause, 
But rather doubtful of the laws. 
The Justice from his elbow-chair 
Gave him a look that seemed to say : 
"Thou standest before a Magistrate, 
Therefore do not prevaricate ! " 190 
Then asked him in a business way, 
Kindly but cold : ' Ts thy wife dead ? " 
The cobbler meekly bowed his head ; 
"She is," came struggling from his 

throat 
Scarce audibly. The Justice wrote 
The words down in a book, and then 
Continued, as he raised his pen; 



316 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



■flfriffiffflfflri 




He came, confiding in his cause, 
But rather doubtful of the laws ' 



' ' She is ; and hath a mass been said 
For the salvation of her soul ? 
Come, speak the truth! confess the 
whole ! " 200 

The cobbler without pause replied : 
' ' Of mass or prayer there was no need ; 
For at the moment when she died 
Her soul was with the glorified 1" 
And from his pocket with all speed 
He drew the priestly title-deed, 
And prayed the Justice he would read. 
The Justice read, amused, amazed ; 
And as he read his mirth increased ; 
At times his shaggy brows he raised, 
Now wondering at the cobbler gazed, 
Now archly at the angry Priest. 212 
" From all excesses, sins, and crimes 
Thou hast committed in past times 
Thee I absolve ! And furthermore, 
Purified from all earthly taints, 
To the communion of the Saints 
And to the sacraments restore ! 
All stains of weakness, and all trace 
Of shame and censure I efface ; 220 
Remit the pains thou shouldst endure, 
And make thee innocent and pure, 
So that in dying, unto thee 
The gates of heaven shall open be ! 
Though long thoulivest, yet this grace 



Until the moment of thy death 
Unchangeable continueth ! " 

Then said he to the Priest : " I find 
This document is duly signed 
Brother John Tetzel, his own hand. 230 
At all tribunals in the land 
In evidence it may be used ; 
Therefore acquitted is the accused." 
Then to the cobbler turned: "My 

friend, 
Pray tell me, didst thou ever read 
Reynard the Fox ? " — "Oh yes, in- 
deed ! " — 
' ' I thought so. Don't forget the end." 



INTERLUDE 

" What was the end? I am ashamed 
Not to remember Reynard's fate ; 
I have not read the book of late ; 
Was he not hanged? " the Poet said. 
The Student gravely shook his head, 
And answered: " You exaggerate. 
There was a tournament proclaimed, 
And Reynard fought with Isegrim 
The Wolf, and having vanquished 
him. 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



3i7 



Rose to high honor in the State, 10 
And Keeper of the Seals was named ! " 

At this the gay Sicilian laughed : 
"Fight fire with fire, and craft with 

craft ; 
Successful cunning seems to be 
The moral of your tale," said he. 
"Mine had a better, and the Jew's 
Had none at all, that I could see ; 
His aim was only to amuse." 

Meanwhile from out its ebon case 
His violin the Minstrel drew, 20 

A^id having tuned its strings anew, 
Now held it close in his embrace, 
And poising in his outstretched hand 
The bow, like a magician's wand, 
He paused, and said, with beaming- 
face : 



The flapping of an idle sail ; 
And then by sudden and sharp degrees 
The multiplied, wild harmonies 
Freshened and burst into a gale ; 40 
A tempest howling through the dark, 
A crash as of some shipwrecked bark, 
A loud and melancholy wail. 

Such was the prelude to the tale 
Told by the Minstrel ; and at times 
He paused amid its varying rhymes, 
And at each pause again broke in 
The music of his violin, 
With tones of sweetness or of fear, 
Movements of trouble or of calm, 50 
Creating their own qimosphere ; 
As sitting in a church we hear 
Between the verses of the psalm 
The organ playing soft and clear, 
Or thundering on the startled ear. 




Ready for sea, at anchor lay 
The good ship Valdemar " 



' ' Last night my story was too long ; 
To-day I give you but a song, 
An old tradition of the North ; 
But first, to put you in the mood, 
I will a little while prelude, 30 

And from this instrument draw forth 
Something by way of overture." 

He played ; at first the tones were pure 
And tender as a summer night, 
The full moon climbing to her height, 
The sob and ripple of the seas, 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 

THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN 



At Stralsund, by the Baltic Sea, 

Within the sandy bar, 
At sunset of a summer's day, 
Ready for sea, at anchor lay 

The good ship Valdemar. 



3i8 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



The sunbeams danced upon the waves, 
And played along her side ; 

And through the cabin windows 
streamed 

In ripples of golden light, that seemed 
The ripple of the tide. 10 

There sat the captain with his friends, 
Old skippers brown and hale, 

Who smoked and grumbled o'er their 
grog, 

And talked of iceberg and of fog, 
Of calm and storm and gale. 

And one was spinning a sailor's yarn 

About Klabotorman, 
The Kobold of the sea ; a spright 
Invisible to mortal sight, 

Who o'er the rigging ran. 20 

Sometimes he hammered in the hold, 

Sometimes upon the mast, 
Sometimes abeam, sometimes abaft, 
Or at the bows he sang and laughed, 

And made all tight and fast. 

He helped the sailors at their work, 

And toiled with jovial din; 
He helped them hoist and reef the 

sails, 
He helped them stow the casks and 
bales, 
And heave the anchor in. 30 

But woe unto the lazy louts, 

The idlers of the crew ; 
Them to torment was his delight, 
And worry them by day and night, 

And pinch them black and blue. 

And woe to him whose mortal eyes 

Klaboterman behold. 
It is a certain sign of death ! — 
The cabin-boy here held his breath, 

He felt his blood run cold. 40 



The jolly skipper paused awhile, 

And then again began ; 
" There is a Spectre Ship," quoth he, 
" A ship of the Dead that sails the sea, 

And is called the Carmilhan. 

' ' A ghostly ship, with a ghostly crew, 
In tempests she appears; 



And before the gale, or against the 

gale, 
She sails without a rag of sail, 
Without a helmsman steers. 50 

"She haunts the Atlantic north and 
south, 
But mostly the mid-sea, 
Where three great rocks rise bleak and 

bare 
Like furnace chimneys in the air, 
And are called the Chimneys Three. 

" And ill betide the luckless ship , 

That meets the Carmilhan ; 
Over her decks the seas will leap, 
She must go down into the deep, 
And perish mouse and man." 60 

The captain of the Valdemar 

Laughed loud with merry heart. 
" I should like to see this ship," said 

he; 
" I should like to find these Chimneys 
Three 
That are marked down in the 
chart. 

"I have sailed right over the spot," 
he said, 
"With a good stiff breeze behind. 
When the sea was blue, and the sky 

was clear, — 
You can follow my course by these 
pinholes here, — 
And never a rock could find." 70 

And then he swore a dreadful oath, 

He swore by the Kingdoms Three, 
That, should he meet the Carmilhan, 
He would run her down, although he 
ran 
Right into Eternity ! 

All this, while passing to and fro, 

The cabin-boy had heard ; 
He lingered at the door to hear, 
And drank in all with greedy ear, 

And pondered every word. 80 

He was a simple country lad, 

But of a roving mind. 
" Oh, it must be like heaven," thought 

he, 
" Those far-off foreign lands to see, 

And fortune seek and find ! " 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



3i9 



But in the fo'castle, when he heard 

The mariners blaspheme, 
He thought of home, he thought of 

God, 
And his mother under the churchyard 
sod, 
And wished it were a dream. 90 

One friend on board that ship had he ; 

'T was the Klaboterman, 
Who saw the Bible in his chest, 
And made a sign upon his breast, 

All evil thing's to ban. 



in 



The cabin windows have grown blank 

As eyeballs of the dead ; 
No more the glancing sunbeams burn 
On the gilt letters of the stern, 

But on the figure-head ; 100 

On Valdemar Victorious, 

Who looketh with disdain 
To see his image in the tide 
Dismembered float from side to side, 

And reunite again. 

" It is the wind," those skippers said, 

" That swings the vessel so ; 
It is the wind ; it freshens fast, 
'T is time to say farewell at last, 
'T is time for us to go. " no 

They shook the captain by the hand, 
"Good luck! good luck!" they 
cried ; 
Each face was like the setting sun, 
As, broad and red, they one by one 
Went o'er the vessel's. side. 

The sun went down, the full moon rose, 

Serene o'er field and flood ; 
And all the winding creeks and bays 
And broad sea-meadows seemedablaze, 
The sky was red as blood. 120 

The southwest wind blew fresh and 
fair, 

As fair as wind could be ; 
Bound for Odessa, o'er the bar, 
With all sail set, the Yaldemar 

Went proudly out to sea. 

The lovely moon climbs up the sky 
As one who walks in dreams ; 



A tower of marble in her light, 
A wall of black, a wall of white, 
The stately vessel seems. 130 

Low down upon the sandy coast 

The lights begin to burn ; - 
And now, uplifted high in air, 
They kindle with a fiercer glare, 
And now drop far astern. 

The dawn appears, the land is gone, 

The sea is all around ; 
Then on each hand low hills of 

sand 
Emerge and form another land ; 

She steer eth through the Sound. 140 

Through Kattegat and Skager-rack 

She fTitteth like a ghost ; 
By day and night, by night and day, 
She bounds, she flies upon her way 

Along the English coast. 

Cape Finisterre is drawing near, 

Cape Finisterre is past ; 
Into the open ocean stream 
She floats, the vision of a dream 

Too beautiful to last. 150 

Suns rise and set, and rise, and 
yet 

There is no land in sight ; 
The liquid planets overhead 
Burn brighter now the moon is dead, 

And longer stays the night. 

IV 

And now along the horizon's edge 

Mountains of cloud uprose, 
Black as with forests underneath, 
Above, their sharp and jagged teeth 
Were white as drifted snows. 160 

Unseen behind them sank the sun, 

But flushed each snowy peak 
A. little while with rosy light, 
That faded slowly from the sight 
As blushes from the cheek. 

Black grew the sky, — all black, all 
black ; 

The clouds were everywhere ; 
There was a feeling of suspense 
In nature, a mysterious sense 

Of terror in the air. x 7«> 



320 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



And all on board the Yaldemar 
Was still as still could be ; 

Save when the dismal ship-bell tolled, 

As ever and anon she rolled, 
And lurched into the sea. 

The captain up and down the deck 

Went striding to and fro ; 
Now watched the compass at the 

wheel, 
Now lifted up his hand to feel 

Which way the wind might blow. 180 

And now he looked up at the sails, 

And now upon the deep ; 
In every fibre of his frame 
He felt the storm before it came, 

He had no thought of sleep. 

Eight bells ! and suddenly abaft, 

With a great rush of rain, 
Making the ocean white with spume, 
In darkness like the day of doom, 

On came the hurricane. 190 

The lightning flashed from cloud to 
cloud, 

And rent the sky in two ; 
A jagged flame, a single jet 
Of white fire, like a bayonet, 

That pierced the eyeballs through. 

Then all around was dark again, 

And blacker than before ; 
But in that single flash of light 
He had beheld a fearful sight, 

And thought of the oath he swore. 

For right ahead lay the Ship of the 
Dead, 201 

The ghostly Carmilhan ! 
Her masts were stripped, her yards 

were bare, 
And on her bowsprit, poised in air, 
Sat the Klaboterman. 

Her crew of ghosts was all on 
deck 
Or clambering up the shrouds ; 
The boatswain's whistle, the captain's 

hail 
Were like the piping of the gale, 
And thunder in the clouds. aio 

And close behind the Carmilhan 
There rose up from the sea, 



As from a foundered ship of stone, 
Three bare and splintered masts alone : 
They were the Chimneys Three. 

And onward dashed the Valdemar 

And leaped into the dark ; 
A denser mist, a colder blast, 
A little shudder, and she had passed 

Right through thePhan torn Bark. 220 

She cleft in twain the shadowy hulk, 

But cleft it unaware ; 
As when, careering to her nest, 
The sea-gull severs with her breast 

The unresisting air. 

Again the lightning flashed ; again 

They saw the Carmilhan, 
Whole as before in hull and spar ; 
But now on board of the Valdemar 

Stood the Klaboterman. 230 

And they all knew their doom was 
sealed ; 
They knew that death was near ; 
Some prayed who never prayed before, 
And some they wept, and some they 
swore, 
And some were mute with fear. 

Then suddenly there came a shock, 

And louder than wind or sea 
A cry burst from the crew on deck, 
As she dashed and crashed, a hopeless 
wreck, 
Upon the Chimneys Three. 240 

The storm and night were passed, the 
light 

To streak the east began ; 
The cabin-boy, picked up at sea, 
Survived the wreck, and only he, 

To tell of the Carmilhan. 



INTERLUDE 

When the long murmur of applause 
That greeted the Musician's lay 
Had slowly buzzed itself away, 
And the long talk of Spectre Ships 
That followed died upon their lips 
And came unto a natural pause, 
• ' These tales vou tell are one and 

all 
Of the Old World," the Poet said, 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



321 




As she dashed and crashed, a hopeless wreck, 
Upon the Chimneys Three " 



"Flowers gathered from a crumbling 

wall, 
Dead leaves that rustle as they fall ; 10 
Let me present you in their stead 
Something of our New England earth, 
A tale, which, though of no great 

.worth, 
Has still this merit, that it yields 
A certain freshness of the fields, 
A sweetness as of home-made bread. " 

The Student answered : "Be discreet; 
For if the flour be fresh and sound, 
And if the bread be light and sweet, 
Who careth in what mill 't was ground, 
Or of what oven felt the heat, 21 

Unless, as old Cervantes said, 
You are looking after better bread 



Than any that is made of wheat ? 
You know that people nowadays 
To what is old give little praise ; 
All must be new in prose and verse ; 
They want hot bread, or something 

worse, 
Fresh every morning, and half baked ; 
The wholesome bread of yesterday, 3c 
Too stale for them, is thrown away, 
Nor is their thirst with water slaked." 

As oft we see the sky in May 
Threaten to rain, and yet not rain, 
The Poet's face, before so gay, 
Was clouded with a look of pain, 
But suddenly brightened up again ; 
And without further let or stay 
He told his tale of yesterday. 



322 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



THE POET'S TALE 

LADY WENTWORTH 

One hundred years ago, and some- 
thing more, 

In Queen Street, Portsmouth, at her 
tavern door, 

Neat as a pin, and blooming as a rose, 

Stood Mistress Stavers in her furbe- 
lows, 

Just as her cuckoo-clock was striking 
nine. 

Above her head, resplendent on the 
sign, 

The portrait of the Earl of Halifax, 

In scarlet coat and periwig of flax, 

Surveyed at leisure all her varied 
charms, 

Her cap, her bodice, her white folded 
arms, 10 

And half resolved, though he was past 
his prime, 

And rather damaged by the lapse of 
time, 

To fall down at her feet, and to de- 
clare 

The passion that had driven him to 
despair. 

For from his lofty station he had seen 

Stavers, her husband, dressed in 
bottle-green, 

Drive his new Flying Stage-coach, 
four in hand, 

Down the long lane, and out into the 
land, 

And knew that he was far upon the 
way 

To Ipswich and to Boston on the Bay ! 

Just then the meditations of the Earl 
Were interrupted by a little girl, 22 
Barefooted, ragged, with neglected 

hair, 
Eyes full of laughter, neck and shoul- 
ders bare, 
A thin slip of a girl, like a new moon, 
Sure to be rounded into beauty soon, 
A creature men would worship and 

adore, 
Though now in mean habiliments she 

bore 
A pail of water, dripping through the 

street, 
And bathing, as she went, her naked 
feet. 30 



It was a pretty picture, full of grace, — 
The slender form, the delicate, thin 

face ; 
The swaying motion, as she hurried by ; 
The shining feet, the laughter in her 

eye, 
That o'er her face in ripples gleamed 

and glanced, 
As in her pail the shifting sunbeam 

danced : 
And with uncommon feelings of de- 
light 
The Earl of Halifax beheld the sight.. 
Not so Dame Stavers, for he heard her 

say 
These words, or thought he did, as 

plain as day : 40 

"O Martha Hilton! Fie! how dare 

you go 
About the town half dressed, and look- 
ing so!" 
At which the gypsy laughed, and 

straight replied : 
1 ' No matter how I look ; I yet shall 

ride 
In my own chariot, ma'am." And on 

the child 
The Earl of Halifax benignly smiled, 
As with her heavy burden she passed 

on, 
Looked back, then turned the corner, 

and was gone. 

What next, upon that memorable day, 
Arrested his attention was a gay 50 
And brilliant equipage, that flashed 

and spun, 
The silver harness glittering in the 

sun, 
Outriders with red jackets, lithe and 

lank, 
Pounding the saddles as they rose and 

sank, 
While all alone within the chariot sat 
A portly person with three-cornered 

hat, 
A crimson velvet coat, head high in air, 
Gold -headed cane, and nicely pow- 
dered hair, 
And diamond buckles sparkling at his 

knees, 
Dignified, stately, florid, much at ease. 
Onward the pageant swept, and as it 

passed, 61 

Fair Mistress Stavers courtesied low 

and fast : 



THE POET'S TALE 



323 




" No matter how I look ; I yet shall ride 
In my own chariot, ma'am " 



For this was Governor Wentworth, 

driving down . 
To Little Harbor, just beyond the 

town, 
Where his Great House stood looking 

out to sea, 
A goodly place, where it was good to 

be. 

It was a pleasant mansion, an abode 

Near and yet hidden from the great 
high-road, 

Sequestered among trees, a noble 
pile, 

Baronial and colonial in its style ; 70 

Gables and dormer-windows every- 
where, 

And stacks of chimneys rising high in 
air, — 

Pandaean pipes, on which all winds 
that blew 

Made mournful music the whole win- 
ter through. 



Within, unwonted splendors met the 
eye, 

Panels, and floors of oak, and tapes- 
try ; 

Carved chimney-pieces, where on 
brazen dogs 

Revelled and roared the Christmas fires 
of logs ; 

Doors opening into darkness unawares, 

Mysterious passages, and flights of 
stairs ; 80 

And on the walls, in heavy gilded 
frames, 

The ancestral Wentworths with Old- 
Scripture names. 

Such was the mansion where the great 

man dwelt, 
A widower and childless ; and he 

felt 
The loneliness, the uncongenial gloom, 
That like a presence haunted every 

room ; 



324 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



For though not given to weakness, he 

could feel 
The pain of wounds, that ache because 

they heal. 

The years came and the years went, — 

seven in all, 
And passed in cloud and sunshine o'er 

the Hall ; 9 o 

The dawns their splendor through its 

chambers shed, 
The sunsets fltfshed its western win- 
dows red ; 
The snow was on its roofs, the wind, 

the rain ; 
Its woodlands were in leaf and bare 

again ; 
Moons waxed and waned, the lilacs 

bloomed and died, 
In the broad river ebbed and flowed 

the tide, 
Ships went to sea, and ships came 

home from sea, 
And the slow years sailed by and 

ceased to be. 

And all these years had Martha Hilton 
served 

In the Great House, not wholly un- 
observed : ioo 



By day, by night, the silver crescent 

grew, 
Though hidden by clouds, her light 

still shining through ; 
A maid of all work, whether coarse or 

fine, 
A servant who made service seem di- 
vine! 
Through her each room was fair to 

look upon ^ 
The mirrors glistened, and the brasses 

shone, 
The very knocker on the outer door, 
If she but passed, was brighter than 

before. 

And now the ceaseless turning of the 

mill 
Of time, that never for an hour stands 

still, no 

Ground- out the Governor's sixtieth 

birthday, 
And powdered his brown hair with 

silver-gray. 
The robin, the forerunner of the 

spring, 
The bluebird with his jocund carol- 
ling, 
The restless swallows building in the 

eaves, 




A goodly place, where it was good to be ! 



THE POET'S TALE 



325 



The golden buttercups, the grass, the 

leaves, 
The lilacs tossing iu the winds of May, 
All welcomed this majestic holiday! 
He gave a splendid banquet, served 

on plate, 
Such as became the Governor of the 

State, 120 

Who represented England and the 

King, 
And was magnificent in everything. 
He had invited all his friends and 

peers, — 
The Pepperels, the Langdons, and the 

Lears, 
The Spaihawks, the Penhallows, and 

the rest ; 
For why repeat the name of every 

guest ? 
But I must mention one in bands and 

gown, 
The rector there, the Reverend Arthur 

Brown 
Of the Established Church ; with smil- 
ing face 
He sat beside the Governor and said 

grace ; 130 

And then the feast went on, as others 

do, 
But ended as none other I e'er knew. 
When thej had drunk the King, with 

many a cheer, 
The Governor whispered in a servant's 

ear, 
"Who disappeared, and presently there 

stood 
Within the room, in perfect woman- 
hood, 
A maiden, modest and yet self-pos- 
sessed, 
Youthful and beautiful, and simply 

dressed. 
Can this be Martha Hilton ? It must 

be! 
Yes, Martha Hilton, and no other she! 
Dowered with the beauty of her 

twenty years, 141 

How ladylike, how queenlike she ap- 
pears ; 
The pale, thin crescent of the days 

gone by 
Is Dian now in all her majesty ! 
Yet scarce a guest perceived that she 

was there, 
Until the Governor, rising from his 

chair, 



Played slightly with his ruffles, then 
looked down, 

And said unto the Reverend Arthur 
Brown: 

" This is my birthday: it shall like- 
wise be 

My wedding-day ; and you shall marry 
me ! " 150 

The listening guests were greatly mys- 
tified, 

None more so than the rector, who re- 
plied: 

" Marry you ? Yes, that were a plea- 
sant task, 

Your Excellency ; but to whom ? I 
ask." 

The Governor answered: "To this 
lady here ; " 

And beckoned Martha Hilton to draw 
near. 

She came and stood, all blushes, at his 
side. 

The rector paused. The impatient 
Governor cried : 

"This is the lady; do you hesi- 
tate ?. 

Then I command you as Chief Magis- 
trate." 160 

The rector read the service loud and 
clear : 

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered 
here," 

And so on to the end. At his com- 
mand 

On the fourth finger of her fair left 
hand 

The Governor placed the ring ; and 
that was all : 

Martha was Lady Wentworth of the 
Hall! 



INTERLUDE 

Well pleased the audience heard the 

tale. 
The Theologian said : " Indeed, 
To praise you there is little need ; 
One almost hears the farmer's flail 
Thresh out your wheat, nor does there 

fail 
A certain freshness, as you said, 
And sweetness as of home-made bread. 
But not less sweet and not less fresh 
Are many legends that I know, 



326 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Writ by the monks of long-ago, ro 
Who loved to mortify the flesh, 
So that the soul might purer grow, 
And rise to a diviner state ; 
And one of these — perhaps of all 
Most beautiful — I now recall, 
And with permission will narrate ; 
Hoping thereby to make amends 
For that grim tragedy of mine, 
As strong and black as Spanish wine, 
I told last night, and wish almost 20 
It had remained untold, my friends ; 
For Torquemada's awful ghost 
Came to me in the dreams I dreamed, 
And in the darkness glared and 

gleamed 
Like a great lighthouse on the coast. " 

The Student laughing said : ' ' Far 

more 
Like to some dismal fire of bale 
Flaring portentous on a hill ; 
Or torches lighted on a shore 
By wreckers in a midnight gale. 30 
No matter ; be it as you will, 
Only go forward with your tale." 



THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE 

THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL, 

"Hadst thou stayed, I must have 

fled!" 
That is what the Vision said. 

In his chamber all alone, 

Kneeling on the floor of stone, 

Prayed the Monk in deep contrition 

For his sins of indecision, 

Prayed for greater self-denial 

In temptation and in trial ; 

It was noonday by the dial, 

And the Monk was all alone. 10 

Suddenly, as if it lightened, 
An unwonted splendor brightened 
All within him and without him 
In that narrow cell of stone ; 
And he saw the Blessed Vision 
Of our Lord, with light Elysian 
Like a vesture wrapped about Him, 
Like a garment round Him thrown. 

Not as crucified and slain, 

Not in agonies of pain, 20 



Not with bleeding hands and feet, 
Did the Monk his Master see ; 
But as in the village street, 
In the house or harvest-field, 
Halt and lame and blind He healed, 
When He walked in Galilee. 

In an attitude imploring, 
Hands upon his bosom crossed, 
Wondering, worshipping, adoring, 
Knelt the Monk in rapture lost. 30 
Lord, he thought, in heaven that 

reignest, 
Who am I, that thus thou deignest 
To reveal thyself to me ? 
Who am I, that from the centre 
Of thy glory thou shouldst enter 
This poor cell, my guest to be ? 

Then amid his exaltation, 

Loud the convent bell appalling, 

From its belfry calling, calling, 

Rang through court and corridor 40 

With persistent iteration 

He had never heard before. 

It was now the appointed hour 

When alike in shine or shower, 

Winter's cold or summer's heat, 

To the convent portals came 

All the blind and halt and lame, 

All the beggars of the street, 

For their daily dole of food 

Dealt them by the brotherhood ; 50 

And their almoner was he 

Who upon his bended knee, 

Rapt in silent ecstasy 

Of divinest self -surrender, 

Saw the Vision and the Splendor. 

Deep distress and hesitation 
Mingled with his adoration ; 
Should he go or should he stay ? 
Should he leave the poor to wait 
Hungry at the convent gate, 60 

Till the Vision passed away ? 
Should he slight his radiant guest, 
Slight this visitant celestial, 
For a crowd of ragged, bestial 
Beggars at the convent gate ? 
Would the Vision there remain ? 
Would the Vision come again ? 
Then a voice within his breast 
Whispered, audible and clear 
As if to the outward ear : 70 

"Do thy duty ; that is best ; 
Leave unto thy Lord the rest ! " 



THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE 



327 




To the convent portals came 
All the blind and halt and lame ' 



Straightway to his feet he started, 
And with longing look intent 
On the Blessed Vision bent, 
Slowly from his cell departed, 
Slowly on his errand went. 

At the gate the poor were waiting, 
Looking through the iron grating, 
With that terror in the eye 
That is only seen in those 
Who amid their wants and woes 
Hear the sound of doors that close, 
And of feet that pass them by ; 
Grown familiar with disfavor, 
Grown familiar with the savor 
Of the bread by which men die ! 
But to-day, they know not why, 
Like the gate of Paradise 
Seemed the convent gate to rise, 
Like a sacrament divine 
Seemed to them the bread and wine. 



In his heart the Monk was praying, 
Thinking of the homeless poor, 
What they suffer and endure ; 
What we see not, what we see ; 
And the inward voice was saying : 
''Whatsoever thing thou doest 
To the least of mine and lowest, 
That thou doest unto me ! " 100 

Unto me! but had the Vision 
Come to him in beggar's clothing, 
Come a mendicant imploring, 
Would he then have knelt adoring, 
Or have listened with derision, 
And have turned away with loath- 
ing? 

Thus his conscience put the question, 
Full of troublesome suggestion, 
As at length, with hurried pace, 
Towards his cell he turned his face, no 



328 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



And beheld the convent bright 
With a supernatural light, 
Like a luminous cloud expanding 
Over floor and wall and ceiling. 

But he paused with awe-struck feel- 
ing 
At the threshold of his door, 
For the Vision still was standing 
As he left it there before, 
When the convent bell appalling, 
From its belfry calling, calling, 120 
Summoned him to feed the poor. 
Through the long hour intervening 
It had waited his return. 
And he felt his bosom burn, 
Comprehending all the meaning, 
When the Blessed Vision said, 
"Hadst thou stayed, I must have 
fled!" 



INTERLUDE 

All praised the Legend more or less ; 
Some liked the moral, some the verse ; 
Some thought it better, and some 

worse 
Than other legends of the past; 
Until, with ill-concealed distress 
At all their cavilling, at last 
The Theologian gravely said : 
" The Spanish proverb, then, is right; 
Consult your friends on what you do, 
And one will say that it is white, 10 
And others say that it is red." 
And "Amen!" quoth the Spanish 

Jew. 

"Six stories told! We must have 

seven, 
A cluster like the Pleiades, 
And lo ! it happens, as with these, 
That one is missing from our heaven. 
Where is the Landlord ? Bring him 

here; 
Let the Lost Pleiad reappear." 

Thus the Sicilian cried, and went 
Forthwith to seek his missing star, 20 
But did not find him in the bar, 
A place that landlords most frequent, 
Nor yet beside the kitchen fire, 
Nor up the stairs, nor in the hall ; 
It was in vain to ask or call, 
There were no tidings of the Squire. 



So he came back with downcast head, 
Exclaiming : ' ' Well, our bashful host 
Hath surely given up the ghost. 
Another proverb says the dead^ 30 

Can tell no tales ; and that is true. 
It follows, then, that one of you 
Must tell a story in his stead. 
You must," he to the Student said, 
1 ' Who know so many of the best, 
And tell them better than the rest." 

Straight, by these flattering words be- 
guiled, 
The Student, happy as a child 
When he is called a little man, 
Assumed the double task imposed, 40 
And without more ado unclosed 
His smiling lips, and thus began. 



THE STUDENT'S SECOND TALE 

THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE 

Baron Castine of St. Castine 
Has left his chateau in the Pyrenees, 
And sailed across the western seas. 
When he went away from his fair 

demesne 
The birds were building, the woods 

were green ; 
And now the winds of winter blow 
Round the turrets of the old chateau, 
The birds are silent and unseen, 
The leaves lie dead in the ravine, 
And the Pyrenees are white with 

snow. 10 

His father, lonely, old, and gray, 
Sits by the fireside day by day, 
Thinking ever one thought of care ; 
Through the southern windows, nar- 
row and tall, 
The sun shines into the ancient hall, 
And makes a glory round his hair. 
The house-dog, stretched beneath his 

chair. 
Groans in his sleep, as if in pain, 
Then wakes, and yawns, and sleeps 

again, 
So silent is it everywhere, — 20 

So silent you can hear the mouse 
Run and rummage along the beams 
Behind the wainscot of the wall ; 
And the old man rouses from his 
dreams, 



THE STUDENT'S SECOND TALE 



329 



And wanders restless through the 

house, 
As if he heard strange voices call. 

His footsteps echo along the floor 
Of a distant passage, and pause 

awhile ; 
He is standing by an open door 
Looking long, with a sad, sweet smile, 
Into the room of his absent son. 31 
There is the bed on which he lay, 
There are the pictures bright and gay, 
Horses and hounds and sunlit seas ; 
There are his powder-flask and gun, 
And his hunting-knives in shape of a 

fan ; 
The chair by the window where he sat, 
With the clouded tiger-skin for a mat, 



Looking out on the Pyrenees, 
Looking out on Mount Marbore 40 

And the Seven Valleys of Lavedan. 
Ah me ! he turns away and sighs ; 
There is a mist before his eyes. 

At night, whatever the weather be, 
Wind or rain or starry heaven, 
Just as the clock is striking seven, 
Those who look from the windows 

see 
The village Curate, with lantern and 

maid, 
Come through the gateway from the 

park 
And cross the courtyard damp and 

dark, — 50 

A ring of light in a ring of shade. 



■'■',::. 




His father, lonely, old and gray, 
Sits by the fireside day by day : ' 



33° 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



And now at the old man's side he 

stands, 
His voice is cheery, his heart expands, 
He gossips pleasantly, by the blaze 
Of the fire of fagots, about old days, 
And Cardinal Mazarin and the Fronde, 
And the Cardinal's nieces fair and 

fond, 
And what they did, and what they 

said, 
When they heard his Eminence was 

dead. 

And after a pause the old man says, 60 
His mind still coming back again 
To the one sad thought that haunts 

his brain, 
' ' Are there any tidings from over 

sea? 
Ah, why has that wild boy gone from 

me?" 
And the Curate answers, looking 

down, 
Harmless and docile as a lamb, 
''Young blood! young blood! It 

must so be ! " 
And draws from the pocket of his 

gown 
A handkerchief like an oriflamb, 
And wipes his spectacles, and they 

play 70 

Their little game of lansquenet 
In silence for an hour or so, 
Till the clock at nine strikes loud and 

clear 
From the village lying asleep below, 
And across the courtyard, into the 

dark 
Of the winding pathway in the park, 
Curate and lantern disappear, 
And darkness reigns in the old cha- 
teau. 

The ship has come back from over 

sea, 
She has been signalled from below, 80 
And into the harbor of Bordeaux 
She sails with her gallant company. 
But among them is nowhere seen 
The brave young Baron of St. Castine ; 
He hath tarried behind, I ween, 
In the beautiful land of Acadie ! 

And the father paces to and fro 
Through the chambers of the old cha- 
teau, 



Waiting, waiting to hear the hum 
Of wheels on the road that runs be- 
low, 90 
Of servants hurrying here and there, 
The voice in the courtyard, the step 

on the stair, 
Waiting for some one who doth not 

come ■! 
But letters there are, which the old 

man reads 
To the Curate, when he comes at 

night, 
Word by word, as an acolyte 
Repeats his prayers and tells his 

beads ; 
Letters full of the rolling sea, 
Full of a young man's joy to be 
Abroad in the world, alone and free ; 
Full of adventures and wonderful 

scenes 101 

Of hunting the deer through forests 

vast 
In the royal grant of Pierre du Gast ; 
Of nights in the tents of the Tarra- 

tines ; 
Of Madocawando the Indian chief, 
And his daughters, glorious as queens, 
And beautiful beyond belief ; 
And so soft the tones of their native 

tongue, 
The words are not spoken, they are 

sung ! 

And the Curate listens, and smiling 

says: no 

" Ah yes, dear friend ! in our young 

days 
We should have liked to hunt the 

deer 
All day amid those forest scenes, 
And to sleep in the tents of the Tarra- 

tines ; 
But now it is better sitting here 
Within four walls, and without the 

fear 
Of losing our hearts to Indian queens ; 
For man is fire and woman is tow, 
And the Somebody comes and begins 

to blow." 
Then a gleam of distrust and vague 

surmise 120 

Shines in the father's gentle eyes, 
As fire-light on a window-pane 
Glimmers and vanishes again ; 
But naught he answers ; he only sighs, 
And for a moment bows his head ; 



THE STUDENT'S SECOND TALE 



33i 




" Speeding along the woodland way " 



Then, as their custom is, they play 
Their little game of lansquenet, 
And another day is with the dead. 

Another day, and many a day 
And many a week and month depart, 
When a fatal letter wings its way 131 
Across the sea, like a bird of prey, 
And strikes and tears the old man's 

heart. 
Lo ! the young Baron of St. Castine, 
Swift as the wind is, and as wild, 
Has married a dusky Tarratine, 
Has married Madocawando's child! 

The letter drops from the father's 

hand ; 
Though the sinews of his heart are 

wrung, 



He utters no cry, he breathes no 
prayer, 140 

No malediction falls from his tongue ; 
But his stately figure, erect and grand, 
Bends and sinks like a column of sand 
In the whirlwind of his great despair. 
Dying, yes, dying ! His latest breath 
Of parley at the door of death 
Is a blessing on his wayward son. 
Lower and lower on his breast 
Sinks his gray head ; he is at rest ; 
No longer he waits for any one. 150 

For many a year the old chateau 
Lies tenantless and desolate ; 
Rank grasses in the courtyard grow, 
About its gables caws the crow ; 
Only the porter at the gate 
Is left to guard it, and to wait 



3S 2 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



The coming of the rightful heir ; 
No other life or sound is there ; 
No more the Curate comes at night, 
No more is seen the unsteady light, 160 
Threading the alleys of the park ; 
The windows of the hall are dark, 
The chambers dreary, cold, and bare ! 

At length, at last, when the winter is 

past, 
And birds are building, and woods are 

green, 
With flying skirts is the Curate seen 
Speeding along the woodland way, 
Humming gayly, ' ' No day is so long 
But it comes at last to vesper-song." 
He stops at the porter's lodge to say 170 
That at last the Baron of St. Castine 
Is coming home with his Indian queen, 
Is coming without a week's delay ; 
And all the house must be swept and 

clean, 
And all things set in good array ! 
And the solemn porter shakes his head ; 
And the answer he makes is : " Lack- 



We will see, as the blind man said ! " 

Alert since first the day began, 

The cock upon the village church 180 

Looks northward from his airy perch, 

As if beyond the ken of man 

To see the ships come sailing on, 

And pass the Isle of Oleron, 

And pass the Tower of Cordouan. 

In the church below is cold in clay 
The heart that would have leaped for 

joy — 
O tender heart of truth and trust ! — 
To see the coming of that day ; 189 
In the church below the lips are dust ; 
Dust are the hands, and dust the feet 
That would have been so swift to 

meet 
The coming of that wayward boy. 

At night the front of the old chateau 
Is a blaze of light above and below ; 
There 's a sound of wheels and hoofs 

in the street, 
A cracking of whips, and scamper of 

feet, 
Bells are ringing, and horns are blown, 
And the Baron hath come again to his 

own. 



The Curate is waiting in the hall, 200 
Most eager and alive of all 
To welcome the Baron and Baroness ; 
But his mind is full of vague distress, 
For he hath read in Jesuit books 
Of those children of the wilderness, 
And now, good, simple man! he looks 
To see a painted savage stride 
Into the room, with shoulders bare, 
And eagle feathers in her hair, 
And around her a rObe of panther's 
hide. 210 

Instead, he beholds with secret shame 
A form of beauty undefined, 
A loveliness without a name, 
Not of degree, but more of kind ; 
Nor bold nor shy, nor short nor tall, 
But a new mingling of them all. 
Yes, beautiful beyond belief. 
Transfigured and transfused, he sees 
The lady of the Pyrenees, 
The daughter of the Indian chief. 220 
Beneath the shadow of her hair 
The gold-bronze color of the skin 
Seems lighted by a fire within, 
As when a burst of sunlight shines 
Beneath a sombre grove of pines, — 
A dusky splendor in the air. 
The two small hands, that now are 

pressed 
In his, seem made to be caressed, 
They lie so warm and soft and still, 
Like birds half hidden in a nest, 230 
Trustful, and innocent of ill. 
And ah ! he cannot believe his ears 
When her melodious voice he hears 
Speaking his native Gascon tongue; 
The words she utters seem to be 
Part of some poem of Goudouli, 
They are not spoken, they are sung! 
And the Baron smiles, and says, "You 

see, 
I told you but the simple truth ; 
Ah, you may trust the eyes of youth ! " 

Down in the village clay by day 241 
The people gossip in their way, 
And stared to see the Baroness pass 
On Sunday morning to early mass ; 
And when she kneeleth down to pray, 
They wonder, and whisper together, 

and say 
" Surely this is no heathen lass! " 
And in course of time they learn to bless 
The Baron and the Baroness. 



THE STUDENT'S SECOND TALE 



333 



And in course of time the Curate learns 
A secret so dreadful, that by turns 251 
He is ice and fire, he freezes and burns. 
The Baron at confession hath said, 
That though this woman be his wife, 
He hath wed her as the Indians wed, 
He hath bought her for a gun and a 

knife ! 
And the Curate replies: " O profligate, 
O Prodigal Son ! return once more 
To the open arms and the open door 
Of the Church, or ever it be too late. 
Thank God, thy father did not live 261 
To see what he could not forgive ; 
On thee, so reckless and perverse, 
He left his blessing, not his curse. 
But the nearer the dawn the darker 

the night, 
And by going wrong all things come 

right ; 
Things have been mended that were 

worse, 
And the worse, the nearer they are to 

mend. 
For the sake of the living and the 

dead, 
Thou shalt be wed as Christians wed, 
And all things come to a happy end." 

O sun, that followest the night, 272 
In yon blue sky, serene and pure, 
And pourest thine impartial light 
Alike on mountain and on moor, 
Pause for a moment in thy course, 
And bless the bridegroom and the 

bride ! 
O Gave, that from thy hidden source 
In yon mysterious mountain-side 
Pursuest thy wandering way alone, 280 
And leaping down its steps of stone, 
Along the meadow-lands demure 
Stealest away to the Adour, 
Pause for a moment in thy course 
To bless the bridegroom and the bride ! 

The choir is singing the matin song, 
The doors of the church are opened 

wide, 
The people crowd, and press, and 

throng 288 

To see the bridegroom and the bride. 
They enter and pass along the nave ; 
They stand upon the father's grave ; 
The bells are ringing soft and slow ; 
The living above and the dead below 
Give their blessing on one and twain ; 



The warm wind blows from the hills 

of Spain, 
The birds are building, the leaves are 

green, 
And Baron Castine of St. Castine 
Hath come at last to his own again. 



FINALE 

"Nunc plaudite! " the Student cried, 
When he had finished ; " now applaud, 
As Roman actors used to say 
At the conclusion of a play ; " 
And rose, and spread his hands abroad, 
And smiling bowed from side to 

side, 
As one who bears the pa4m away. 

And generous was the applause and 

loud, 
But less for him than for the sun, 
That even as the tale was done 10 

Burst from its canopy of cloud, 
And lit the landscape with the blaze 
Of afternoon on autumn days, 
And filled the room with light, and 

made 
The fire of logs a painted shade. 

A sudden wind from out the west 
Blew all its trumpets loud and shrill ; 
The windows rattled with the blast, 
The oak-trees shouted as it passed, 
And straight, as if by fear possessed, 
The cloud encampment on the hill 21 
Broke up, and fluttering flag and 

tent 
Vanished into the firmament, 
And down the valley fled amain 
The rear of the retreating rain. 

Only far up in the blue sky 

A mass of clouds, like drifted snow 

Suffused with a faint Alpine glow, 

Was heaped together, vast and high, 

On which a shattered rainbow hung, 

Not rising like the ruined arch 31 

Of some aerial aqueduct, 

But like a roseate garland plucked 

From an Olympian god, and flung 

Aside in his triumphal march. 

Like prisoners from their dungeon 

gloom, 
Like birds escaping from a snare, 



334 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Like school-boys at the hour of play, 
All left at once the pent-up room, 
And rushed into the open air ; 4 o 

And no more tales were told that day. 



PAET THIRD 

PRELUDE 

The evening came ; the golden vane 
A moment in the sunset glanced, 
Then darkened, and then gleamed 

again, 
As from the east the moon advanced 
And touched it with a softer light ; 
While underneath, with flowing mane, 
Upon the sign the Red Horse pranced, 
And galloped forth into the night. 

But brighter than the afternoon 
That followed the dark day of rain, 10 
And brighter than the golden vane 
That glistened in the rising moon, 
Within, the ruddy fire-light gleamed ; 
And every separate window-pane, 
Backed by the outer darkness, showed 
A mirror, where the flamelets gleamed 
And flickered to and fro, and seemed 
A bonfire lighted in the road. 

Amid the hospitable glow, 
Like an old actor on the stage, 20 

With the uncertain voice of age, 
The singing chimney chanted low 
The homely songs of long ago. 

The voice that Ossian heard of yore, 
When midnight winds were in his hall ; 
A ghostly and appealing call, 
A sound of days that are no more ! 
And dark as Ossian sat the Jew, 
And listened to the sound, and knew 
The passing of the airy hosts, 30 

The gray and misty cloud of ghosts 
In their interminable flight ; 
And listening muttered in his beard, 
With accent indistinct and weird, 
" Who are ye, children of the Night ? " 

Beholding his mysterious face, 
"Tell me," the gay Sicilian said, 
" Why was it that in breaking bread 
At supper, you bent down your head 
And, musing, paused a little space, 40 
As one who says a silent grace ? " 



The Jew replied, with solemn air, 
" I said the Manichaean's prayer. 
It was his faith, — perhaps is mine, 
That life in all its forms is one, 
And that its secret conduits run 
Unseen, but in unbroken line, 
From the great fountain-head divine 
Through man and beast, through 

grain and grass. 
Howe'er we struggle, strive, and cry, 
From death there can be no escape, 51 
And no escape from life, alas ! 
Because we cannot die, but pass 
From one into another shape: 
It is but into life we die. 

' ' Therefore the Manichaean said 
This simple prayer on breaking bread, 
Lest he with hasty hand or knife 
Might wound the incarcerated life, 
The soul in things that we call 

dead : 60 

' I did not reap thee, did not bind 

thee, 
I did not thrash thee, did not grind 

thee, 
Nor did I in the oven bake thee ! 
It was not I, it was another 
Did these things unto thee, O brother ; 
I only have thee, hold thee, break 

thee!'" 

"That birds have souls I can con- 
cede," 
The Poet cried, with glowing cheeks , 
"The flocks that from their beds of 

reed 
Uprising north or southward fly, 70 
And flying write upon the sky 
The bif orked letter of the Greeks, 
As hath been said by Rucellai ; 
A 11 birds that sing or chirp or cry, 
Even those migratory bands, 
The minor poets of the air, 
The plover, peep, and sanderling, 
That hardly can be said to sing, 
But pipe along the barren sands, — 
All these have souls akin to ours ; 80 
So hath the lovely race of flowers : 
Thus much I grant, but nothing 

more. 
The rusty hinges of a door 
Are not alive because they creak : 
This chimney, with its dreary roar, 
These rattling windows, do not 
speak I " 



THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE 



335 



" To me they speak," the Jew replied ; 
" And in the sounds that sink and 

soar, 
I hear the voices of a tide 
That breaks upon an unknown 

shore ! " 90 

Here the Sicilian interfered : 

"That was your dream, then, as you 
dozed 

A moment since, with eyes half- 
closed, 

And murmured something in your 
beard." 

The Hebrew smiled, and answered, 
"Nay; 



Not that, but something very near ; 
Like, and yet not the same, may seem 
The vision of my waking dream ; 
Before it wholly dies away, 
Listen to me, and you shall hear." 100 



THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE 

AZRAEL 

King Solomon, before his palace gate 
At evening, on the pavement tessellate 
Was walking with a stranger from 

the East, 
Arrayed in rich attire as for a feast, 




'■ What is yon shape, that, pallid as the dead, 
Is watching me?" . . . 



33^ 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



The mighty Runjeet-Sing, a learned 

man, 
And Rajah of the realms of Hindos- 

tan. 
And as they walked the guest became 

aware 
Of a white figure in the twilight 

air, 
Gazing intent, as one who with sur- 
prise 
His form and features seemed to 

recognize ; 10 

And in a whisper to the king he 

said : 
" What is yon shape, that, pallid as 

the dead, 
Is watching me, as if he sought to 

trace 
In the dim light the features of my 

face ? " 

The king looked, and replied: "I 

know him well ; 
It is the Angel men call Azrael, 
'T is the Death Angel ; what hast thou 

to fear ? " 
And the guest answered: "Lest he 

should come near, 
And speak to me, and take away my 

breath ! 
Save me from Azrael, save me from 

death ! 20 

king, that hast dominion o'er the 

wind, 
Bid it arise and bear me hence to 

Ind." 

The king gazed upward at the cloud- 
less sky, 

Whispered a word, and raised his 
hand on high, 

A.nd lo! the signet-ring of chryso- 
prase 

On his uplifted finger seemed to blaze 

With hidden fire, and rushing from 
the west 

There came a mighty wind, and seized 
the guest 

And lifted him from earth, and on they 
passed, 

His shining garments streaming in 
the blast, 30 

A silken banner o'er the walls up- 
reared, 

A purple cloud, that gleamed and dis- 
appeared. 



Then said the Angel, smiling: "If 

this man 
Be Rajah Runjeet - Sing of Hindo- 

stan, 
Thou hast done well in listening to his 

prayer ; 
I was upon my way to seek him 

there." 



INTERLUDE 

"O Edreht, forbear to-night 
Your ghostly legends of affright, 
And let the Talmud rest in peace ; 
Spare us your dismal tales of death 
That almost take away one's breath ; 
So doing, may your tribe increase." 

Thus the Sicilian said ; then went 
And on the spinet's rattling kej r s 
Played Marianina, like a breeze 
From Naples and the Southern seas, 10 
That brings us the delicious scent 
Of citron and of orange trees, 
And memories of soft days of ease 
At Capri and Amalfi spent. 

" Not so," the eager Poet said ; 
" At least, not so before I tell 
The story of my Azrael, 
An angel mortal as ourselves, 
Which in an ancient tome I found 
Upon a convent's dusty shelves, 20 
Chained with an iron chain, and bound 
In parchment, and with clasps of 

brass. 
Lest from its prison, some dark day, 
It might be stolen or steal away, 
While the good friars were singing 

mass. 

" It is a tale of Charlemagne, 

When like a thunder-cloud, that low- 

ers 
And sweeps from mountain -crest to 

coast, 
With lightning flaming through its 

showers, 
He swept across the Lombard plain, 3° 
Beleaguering with his warlike train 
Pavia, the country's pride and boast, 
The City of the Hundred Towers." 

Thus heralded the tale began, 
And thus in sober measure ran. 



THE POET'S TALE 



337 



THE POET'S TALE 

CHARLEMAGNE 

Olger the Dane and Desiderio, 

King of the Lombards, on a lofty 
tower 

Stood gazing northward o'er the roll- 
ing plains, 

League after league of harvests, to the 
foot 

Of the snow-crested Alps, and saw ap- 
proach 

A mighty army, thronging all the 
roads 

That led into the city. And the King 

Said unto Olger, who had passed his 
youth 

As hostage at the court of France, 
and knew 

The Emperor's form and face: "Is 
Charlemagne 10 

Among that host ? " And Olger an- 
swered: "No." 

And still the innumerable multitude 
Flowed onward and increased, until 

the King 
Cried in amazement : ' ' Surely Charle- 
magne 
Is coming in the midst of all these 

knights ! " 
And Olger answered slowly : ' ' No ; not 

yet ; 
He will not come so soon." Then 

much disturbed 
King Desiderio asked : ' ' What shall 

we do, 
If he approach with a still greater 

army 1 " 
And Olger answered : " When he shall 

appear, 20 

You will behold what manner of man 

he is; 
But what will then befall us I know 

not." 

Then came the guard that never knew 

repose, 
The Paladins of France ; and at the 

sight 
The Lombard King o'ercome with 

terror cried : 
"This must be Charlemagne!" and as 

before 
Did Olger answer : "No; not yet, not 

yet." 



And then appeared in panoply com- 
plete 

The Bishops and the Abbots and the 
Priests 

Of the imperial chapel, and the Counts ; 

And Desiderio could no more endure 

The light of day, nor yet encounter 
death, 32 

But sobbed aloud and said: "Let us 
go down 

And hide us in the bosom of the earth, 

Far from the sight and anger of a 
foe 

So terrible as this! " And Olger said: 

"When you behold the harvests in 
the fields 

Shaking with fear, the Po and the 
Ticino 

Lashing the city walls with iron waves, 

Then may you know that Charlemagne 
is come." 40 

And even as he spake, in the north- 
west, 

Lo! there uprose a black and threat- 
ening cloud, 

Out of whose bosom flashed the light 
of arms 

Upon the people pent up in the city ; 

A light more terrible than any dark- 
ness, 

And Charlemagne appeared ; — a Man 
of Iron ! 

His helmet was of iron, and his gloves 

Of iron, and his breastplate and his 
greaves 

And tassets were of iron, and his 
shield. 

In his left hand he held an iron spear, 

In his right hand his sword invinci- 
ble. 51 

The horse he rode on had the strength 
of iron, 

And color of iron. All who went be- 
fore him, 

Beside him and behind him, his whole 
host, 

Were armed with iron, and their hearts 
within them 

Were stronger than the armor that 
they wore. 

The fields and all the roads were filled 
with iron, 

And points of iron glistened in the sun 

And shed a terror through the city 
streets. 



33« 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 




And Charlemagne appeared ; — a Man of Iron 



This at a single glance Olger the 

Dane 
Saw from the tower, and turning to 

the King 61 

Exclaimed in haste: "Behold! this is 

the man 
You looked for with such eagerness! " 

and then 
Fell as one dead at Desiderio's feet. 



INTERLUDE 

Well pleased all listened to the tale, 
That drew, the Student said, its pith 
And marrow from the ancient myth 
Of some one with an iron flail ; 
Or that portentous Man of Brass 
Hephaestus made in days of yore, 
Who stalked about the Cretan shore, 
And saw the ships appear and pass, 
And threw stones at the Argonauts, 



Being filled with indiscriminate ire 10 
That tangled and perplexed his 

thoughts ; 
But, like a hospitable host, 
When strangers landed on the coast, 
Heated himself red-hot with fire, 
And hugged them in his arms, and 

pressed 
Their bodies to his burning breast. 

The Poet answered: "No, not thus 
The legend rose ; it sprang at first 
Out of the hunger and the thirst 
In all men for the marvellous. 20 

And thus it filled and satisfied 
The imagination of mankind, 
And this ideal to the mind 
Was truer than historic fact. 
Fancy enlarged and multiplied 
The terrors of the awful name 
Of Charlemagne, till he became 
Armipotent in every act, 



THE STUDENT'S TALE 



339 



And, clothed in mystery, appeared 
Not what men saw, but what they 
feared. 30 

"Besides, unless my memory fail, 
Your some one with an iron flail 
Is not an ancient myth at all, 
But comes much later on the scene 
As Talus in the Faerie Queene, 
The iron groom of Artegall, 
Who threshed out falsehood and de- 
ceit, 
And truth upheld, and righted wrong, 
And was, as is the swallow, fleet, 
And as the lion is, was strong." 40 

The Theologian said: " Perchance 
Your chronicler in writing this 
Had in his mind the Anabasis, 
Where Xenophon describes the ad- 
vance 
Of Artaxerxes to the fight ; 
At first the low gray cloud of dust, 
And then a blackness o'er the fields 
As of a passing thunder- gust, 
Then flash of brazen armor bright, 
And ranks of men, and spears up- 
tbrust, so 

Bowmen and troops with wicker 

shields, 
And cavalry equipped in white. 
And chariots ranged in front of these 
With scythes upon their axle-trees." 

To this the Student answered : " Well, 
I also have a tale to tell 
Of Charlemagne ; a tale that throws 
A softer light, more tinged with 

rose, 
Than your grim apparition cast 
Upon the darkness of the past. 60 

Listen, and hear in English rhyme 
What the good Monk of Lauresheim 
Gives as the gossip of his time, 
In mediaeval Latin prose." 



THE STUDENT'S TALE 

EMMA AND EGINHARD 

When Alcuin taught the sons of 

Charlemagne, 
In the free schools of Aix, how kings 

should reign, 



And with them taught the children of 

the poor 
How subjects should be patient and 

endure, 
He touched the lips of some, as best 

befit, 
With honey from the hives of Holy 

Writ ; 
Others intoxicated with the wine 
Of ancient history, sweet but less di- 
vine ; 
Some with the wholesome fruits of 

grammar fed ; 
Others with mysteries of the stars o'er- 

head, 10 

That hang suspended in the vaulted 

sky 
Like lamps in some fair palace vast 

and high. 
In sooth, it was a pleasant sight to see 
That Saxon monk, with hood and 

rosary, 
With inkhorn at his belt, and pen and 

book, 
And mingled love and reverence in 

his look, 
Or hear the cloister and the court re- 
peat 
The measured footfalls of his sandaled 

feet, 
Or watch him with the pupils of his 

school, 
Gentle of speech, but absolute of 

rule. 20 

Among them, always earliest in his 

place, 
Was Eginhard, a youth of Frankish 

race, 
Whose face was bright with flashes 

that forerun 
The splendors of a yet unrisen sun. 
To him all things were possible, and 

seemed 
Not what he had accomplished, but 

had dreamed, 
And what were tasks to others were 

his play, 
The pastime of an idle holiday. 

Smaragdo, Abbot of St. Michael's, 

said, 
With many a shrug and shaking of 

the head, 30 

Surely some demon must possess the 

lad, 



34° 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Who showed more wit than ever 

school boy had, 
And learned his Trivium thus without 

the rod ; 
But Alcuin said it was the grace of 

God. 

Thus he grew up, in Logic point-de- 
vice, 
Perfect in Grammar, and in Rhetoric 

nice ; 
Science of Numbers, Geometric art, 
And lore of Stars, and Music knew by 

heart ; 
A Minnesinger, long before the times 
Of those who sang their love in Sua- 
bian rhymes. 4 o 

The Emperor, when he heard this 

good report 
Of Eginhard much buzzed about the 

court, 
Said to himself, " This stripling seems 

to be 
Purposely sent into the world for 

me; 
He shall become my scribe, and shall 

be schooled 
In all the arts whereby the world is 

ruled." 
Thus did the gentle Eginhard at- 
tain 
To honor in the court of Charle- 
magne ; 
Became the sovereign's favorite, his 

right hand, 
So that his fame was great in all the 

land, 50 

And all men loved him for his modest 

grace 
And comeliness of figure and of face. 
An inmate of the palace, yet recluse, 
A man of books, yet sacred from 

abuse 
Among the armed knights with spur 

on heel, 
The tramp of horses and the clang of 

steel ; 
And as the Emperor promised he was 

schooled 
In all the arts by which the world is 

ruled. 
But the one art supreme, whose law 

is fate, 
The Emperor never dreamed of till 

too late. 60 



Home from her convent to the palace 

came 
The lovely Princess Emma, whose 

sweet name, 
Whispered by seneschal or sung by 

bard, 
Had often touched the soul of Egin- 
hard. 
He saw her from his window, as in 

state 
She came, by knights attended through 

the gate ; 
He saw her at the banquet of that 

day, 
Fresh as the morn, and beautiful as 

May; 
He saw her in the garden, as she 

strayed 
Among the flowers of summer with 

her maid, 70 

And said to him, ' ' O Eginhard, dis- 
close 
The meaning and the mystery of the 

rose ; " 
And trembling he made answer: " In 

good sooth, 
Its mystery is love, its meaning 

youth!" 

How can I tell the signals and the 
signs 

By which one heart another heart di- 
vines ? 

How can I tell the many thousand 
ways 

By which it keeps the secret it be- 
trays ? 

O mystery of love! O strange ro- 
mance! 

Among the Peers and Paladins of 
France, 80 

Shining in steel, and prancing on gay 
steeds, 

Noble by birth, yet nobler by great 
deeds, 

The Princess Emma had no words nor 
looks 

But for this clerk, this man of thought 
and books. 

The summer passed, the autumn 

came; the stalks 
Of lilies blackened in the garden 

walks; 
The leaves fell, russet-golden and 

blood-red, 



THE STUDENT'S TALE 



34i 



Love-letters, thought the poet fancy- 
led, 

Or Jove descending in a shower of 
gold 

Into the lap of Danae of old ; 90 

For poets cherish many a strange con- 
ceit, 

And love transmutes all nature by its 
' heat. 

No more the garden lessons, nor the 
dark 

And hurried meetings in the twilight 
park; 

But now the studious lamp, and the 
delights 

Of firesides in the silent winter nights, 

And watching from his window hour 
by hour 

The light that burned in Princess 
Emma's tower. 

At length one night, while musing by 
the fire, 

O'ercome at last by his insane de- 
sire, — 100 

For what will reckless love not do 
and dare ? 

He crossed the court, and climbed the 
winding stair, 

With some feigned message in the 
Emperor's name; 

But when he to the lady's presence 
came 

He knelt down at her feet, until she 
laid 

Her hand upon him, like a naked 
blade, 

And whispered in his ear: "Arise, 
Sir Knight, 

To my heart's level, O my heart's de- 
light." 

And there he lingered till the crow- 
ing cock, 

The Alectryon of the farmyard and 
the flock, no 

Sang his aubade with lusty voice and 
clear, 

To tell the sleeping world that dawn 
was near. 

And then they parted ; but at parting, 
lo! 

They saw the palace courtyard white 
with snow, 

And, placid as a nun, the moon on high 



Gazing from cloudy cloisters of the 

sky. 
"Alas! " he said, " how hide the fatal 

line 
Of footprints leading from thy door 

to mine, 
And none returning ! " Ah, he little 

knew 
What woman's wit, when put to 

proof, can do ! 120 

That night the Emperor, sleepless 

with the cares 
And troubles that attend on state 

affairs, 
Had risen before the dawn, and mus- 
ing gazed 
Into the silent night, as one amazed 
To see the calm that reigned o'er all 

supreme, 
When his own reign was but a trou- 
bled dream. 
The moon lit up the gables capped 

with snow, 
And the white roofs, and half the 

court below, 
And he beheld a form, that seemed to 

cower 
Beneath a burden, come from Emma's 

tower, — 130 

A woman, who upon her shoulders 

bore 
Clerk Eginhard to his own private 

door, 
And then returned in haste, but still 

essayed 
To tread the footprints she herself had 

made; 
And as she passed across the lighted 

space, 
The Emperor saw his daughter 

Emma's face ! 



He started not; he did not speak or 

moan, 
But seemed as one who hath been 

turned to stone ; 
And stood there like a statue, nor 

awoke 
Out of his trance of pain, till morning 

broke, 140 

Till the stars faded, and the moon 

went down, 
And o'er the towers and steeples of 

the town 



342 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Came the gray daylight; then the 
sun, who took 

The empire of the world with sover- 
eign look, 

Suffusing with a soft and golden 
glow 

All the dead landscape in its shroud of 
snow, 

Touching with flame the tapering 
chapel spires, 

Windows and roofs, and smoke of 
household fires, 

And kindling park and palace as he 
came; 

The stork's nest . on the chimney 
seemed in flame. 150 

And thus he stood till Eginhard ap- 
peared, 

Demure and modest with his comely 
beard 

And flowing flaxen tresses, come to 
ask, 

As was his wont, the day's appointed 
task. 



The Emperor looked upon him with a 

smile, 
And gently said : " My son, wait yet 

awhile ; 
This hour my council meets upon 

some great 
And very urgent business of the state. 
Come back within the hour. On thy 

return 
The work appointed for thee shalt 

thou learn." 160 

Having dismissed this gallant Trouba- 
dour, 

He summoned straight his council, and 
secure 

And steadfast in his purpose, from the 
throne 

All the adventure of the night made 
known ; 

Then asked for sentence ; and with 
eager breath 

Some answered banishment, and others 
death. 




..." come to ask, 
As was his wont, the day's appointed task." 



THE STUDENT'S TALE 



343 



Then spake the king : "Your sentence 
is not mine ; 

Life is the gift of God, and is divine ; 

Nor from these palace walls shall one 
depart 

Who carries such a secret in his heart ; 

My better judgment points another 
way. 171 

Good Alcuin, I remember how one day 

When my Pepino asked you, ' What 
are men ? ' 

You wrote upon his tablets with your 
pen, 

' Guests of the grave and travellers 
that pass ! ' 

This being true of all men, we, alas ! 

Being all fashioned of the selfsame 
dust, 

Let us be merciful as well as just ; 

This passing traveller who hath stolen 
away 

The brightest jewel of my crown to- 
day, 180 

Shall of himself the precious gem re- 
store ; 

By giving it, I make it mine once 
more. 

Over those fatal footprints I will throw 

My ermine mantle like another snow." 

Then Eginhard was summoned to the 
hall, 

And entered, and in presence of them 
all, 

The Emperor said : "My son, for thou 
to me 

Hast been a son, and evermore shalt 
be, 

Long hast thou served thy sovereign, 
and thy zeal 189 

Pleads to me with importunate appeal, 

While I have been forgetful to requite 

Thy service and affection as was right. 

But now the hour is come, when I, thy 
Lord, 

Will crown thy love with such su- 
preme reward, 

A gift so precious kings have striven 
in vain 

To win it from the hands of Charle- 
magne." 

Then sprang the portals of the cham- 
ber wide, 

And Princess Emma entered, in the 
pride 



Of birth and beauty, that in part o'er- 

came 
The conscious terror and the blush of 

shame. 200 

And the good Emperor rose up from 

his throne, 
And taking her white hand within his 

own 
Placed it in Eginhard's, and said : "My 

son, 
This is the gift thy constant zeal hath 

won ; 
Thus I repay the royal debt I owe, 
And cover up the footprints in the 

snow." 



INTERLUDE 

Thus ran the Student's pleasant rhyme 
Of Eginhard and love and youth ; 
Some doubted its historic truth, 
But while they doubted, ne'ertheless 
Saw in it gleams of truthfulness, 
And thanked the Monk of Lauresheim. 

This they discussed in various mood ; 
Then in the silence that ensued 
Was heard a sharp and sudden sound 
As of a bowstring snapped in air ; 10 
And the Musician with a bound 
Sprang up in terror from his chair, 
And for a moment listening stood, 
Then strode across the room, and found 
His dear, his darling violin 
Still lying safe asleep within 
Its little cradle, like a child 
That gives a sudden cry of pain, 
And wakes to fall asleep again ; 
And as he looked at it and smiled, 20 
By the uncertain light beguiled. 
Despair! two strings were broken in 
twain. 

While all lamented and made moan, 
With many a sympathetic word 
As if the loss had been their own, 
Deeming the tones they might have 

heard 
Sweeter than they had heard before, . 
They saw the Landlord at the door, 
The missing man, the portly Squire ! 
He had not entered, but he stood 30 
With both arms full of seasoned 

wood, 
To feed the much-devouring fire, 



344 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



That like a lion in a cage 
Lashed its long tail and roared with 
rage. 

The missing man! Ah, yes, they said, 
Missing, but whither had he tied ? 
Where had he hidden himself away ? 
No farther than the barn or shed ; 
He had not hidden himself, nor fled ; 
Bow should he pass the rainy day 40 
But in his barn with hens and hay, 
Or mending harness, cart, or sled ? 
Now, having come, he needs must 

stay 
And tell his tale as well as they. 

The Landlord answered only : ' ' These 
Are logs from the dead apple-trees 
Of the old orchard planted. here 
By the first Howe of Sudbury. 
Nor oak nor maple has so clear 
A flame, or burns so quietly, 50 

Or leaves an ash so clean and white; " 
Thinking by this to put aside 
The impending tale that terrified ; 
When suddenly, to his delight, 
The Theologian interposed, 
Saying that when the door was closed, 
And they had stopped that draft of 

cold, 
Unpleasant night air, he proposed 
To tell a tale world-wide apart 
From that the Student had just told ; 
World-wide apart, and yet akin, 61 
As showing that the human heart 
Beats on forever as of old ; 
As well beneath the snow-white fold 
Of Quaker kerchief, as within 
Sendal or silk or cloth of gold, 
And without preface would begin. 

And then the clamorous clock struck 

eight, 
Deliberate, with sonorous chime 
Slow measuring out the march of time, 
Like some grave Consul of Old Rome 
In Jupiter's temple driving home 72 
The nails that marked the year .and 

date. 
Thus interrupted in his rhyme, 
The Theologian needs must wait ; 
But quoted Horace, where he sings 
The dire Necessity of things, 
That drives into the roofs sublime 
Of new-built houses of the great 
The adamantine nails of Fate. 80 



When ceased the little carillon 
To herald from its wooden tower 
The important transit of the hour, 
The Theologian hastened on, 
Content to be allowed at last 
To sing his Idyl of the Past. 

THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE 

ELIZABETH 



' ' Ah, how short are the days ! How 
soon the night overtakes us ! 

In the old country the twilight is 
longer ; but here in the forest 

Suddenly comes the dark, with hardly 
a pause in its coming, 

Hardly a moment between the two 
lights, the day and the lamp- 
light ; 

Yet how grand is the winter ! ■ How 
spotless the snow is, and per- 
fect ! " 

Thus spake Elizabeth Haddon at 
nightfall to Hannah the house- 
maid, 

As in the farm-house kitchen, that 
served for kitchen and parlor, 

By the window she sat with her work, 
and looked on the landscape 

White as the great white sheet that 
Peter saw in his vision, 

By the four corners let down and de- 
scending out of the heavens. 10 

Covered with snow were the forests of 
pine, and the fields and the mea- 
dows, 

Nothing was dark but the sky, and 
the distant Delaware flowing 

Down from its native hills, a peaceful 
and bountiful river. 

Then with a smile on her lips made 

answer Hannah the housemaid: 
' ' Beautiful winter ! yea, the winter is 

beautiful, surely, 
If one c juld only walk like a fly with 

one's feet on the ceiling. 
But the great Delaware River is not 

like the Thames, as we saw it 
Out of our upper windows in Rother- 

hithe Street in the Borough, 



THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE 



345 




" A peaceful and bountif ul river ' 



Crowded with masts and sails of ves- 
sels coming and going ; 

Here there is nothing but pines, with 
patches of snow on their 
branches. 20 

There is snow in the air, and see! it is 
falling already ; 

All the roads will be blocked, and I 
pity Joseph to-morrow, 

Breaking his way through the drifts, 
with his sled and oxen ; and 
then, too, 

How in all the world shall we get to 
Meeting on First-Day ? " 

But Elizabeth checked her, and an- 
swered, mildly reproving: 

" Surely the Lord will provide; for 
unto the snow He sayeth, 

Be thou on the earth, the good Lord 
sayeth ; He is it 

Giveth snow like wool, like ashes scat- 
ters the hoar-frost." 

So she folded her work and laid it 
away in her basket. 

Meanwhile Hannah the housemaid 
had closed and fastened the 
shutters, 30 

Spread the cloth, and lighted the 
lamp on the table, and placed 
there 



Plates and cups from the dresser, the 
brown rye loaf, and the butter 

Fresh from the dairy, and then, pro- 
tecting her hand with a holder, 

Took from the crane in the chimney the 
steaming and simmering kettle, 

Poised it aloft in the air, and filled up 
the earthen teapot, 

Made in Delft, and adorned with 
quaint and wonderful figures. 

Then Elizabeth said, "Lo! Joseph 

is long on his errand. 
I have sent him away with a hamper 

of food and of clothing 
For the poor in the village. A good 

lad and cheerful is Joseph ; 
In the right place is his heart, and his 

hand is ready and willing." 40 

Thus in praise of her servant she 
spake, and Hannah the house- 
maid 

Laughed with her eyes, as she listened, 
but governed her tongue, and 
was silent, 

While her mistress went on: "The 
house is far from the village ; 

We should be lonely here, were it not 
for Friends that in passing 

Sometimes tarry o'ernight, and make 
us glad by their coming. " 



346 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Thereupon answered Hannah the 
housemaid, the thrifty, the 
frugal : 

"Yea, they come and they tarry, as 
if thy house were a tavern ; 

Open to all are its doors, and they 
come and go like the pigeons 

In and out of the holes of the pigeon- 
house over the hayloft, 

Cooing and smoothing their feathers 
and basking themselves in the 
sunshine." 50 

But in meekness of spirit, and 

calmly, Elizabeth answered : 
" All I have is the Lord's, not mine to 

give or withhold it ; 
I but distribute his gifts to the poor, 

and to those of his people 
Who in journeyings often surrender 

their lives to his service. 
His, not mine, are the gifts, and only 

so far can I make them 
Mine, as in giving I add my heart to 

whatever is given. 
Therefore my excellent father first 

built this house in the clearing ; 
Though he came not himself, I came ; 

for the Lord was my guidance, 
Leading me here for this service. We 

must not grudge, then, to 

others 
Ever the cup of cold water, or crumbs 

that fall from our table." 60 

Thus rebuked, for a season was 

silent the penitent housemaid ; 
And Elizabeth said in tones even 

sweeter and softer : 
"Dost thou remember, Hannah, the 

great May -Meeting in London, 
When I was still a child, how we sat 

in the silent assembly, 
Waiting upon the Lord in patient and 

passive submission ? 
No one spake, till at length a young 

man, a stranger, John Estaugh, 
Moved by the Spirit, rose, as if he 

were John the Apostle, 
Speaking such words of power that 

they bowed our hearts, as a 

strong wind 
Bends the grass of the fields, or grain 

that is ripe for the sickle. 
Thoughts of him to-day have been oft 

borne inward upon me, 70 



Wherefore I do not know ; but strong 
is the feeling within me 

That once more I shall see a face I 
have never forgotten." 

11 

E'en as she spake they heard the musi- 
cal jangle of sleigh-bells, 

First far off, with a dreamy sound 
and faint in the distance, 

Then growing nearer and louder, and 
turning into the farmyard, 

Till it stopped at the door, with sud- 
den creaking of runners. 

Then there were voices heard as of 
two men talking together, 

And to herself, as she listened, up- 
braiding said Hannah the house- 
maid, 

" It is Joseph come back, and I won- 
der what stranger is with him." 

Down from its nail she took and 
lighted the great tin lantern 80 

Pierced with holes, and round, and 
roofed like the top of a light- 
house, 

And went forth to receive the coming 
guest at the doorway, 

Casting into the dark a network of 
glimmer and shadow 

Over the falling snow, the yellow 
sleigh, and the horses, 

And the forms of men, snow-covered, 
looming gigantic. 

Then giving Joseph the lantern, she 
entered the house with the 
stranger. 

Youthful he was and tall, and his 
cheeks aglow with the night air ; 

And as he entered, Elizabeth rose, and, 
going to meet him, 

As if an unseen power had announced 
and preceded his presence, 

And he had come as one whose com- 
ing had long been expected, 90 

Quietly gave him her hand, and said, 
"Thou art welcome, John Es- 
taugh." 

And the stranger replied, with staid 
and quiet behavior, 

' ' Dost thou remember me still, Eliza- 
beth ? After so many 

Years have passed, it seemeth a won- 
derful thing that I find thee. 



THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE 



347 



Surely the hand of the Lord conducted 
me here to thy threshold. 

For as I journeyed along, and pon- 
dered alone and in silence 

On his ways, that are past finding out, 
I saw in the snow-mist, 

Seemingly weary with travel, a way- 
farer, who by the wayside 

Paused and waited. Forthwith I re- 
membered Queen Candace's 
eunuch, 

How on the way that goes down from 
Jerusalem unto Gaza, ioo 

Reading Esaias the Prophet, he jour- 
neyed, and spake unto Philip, 

Praying him to come up and sit in his 
chariot with him. 

So I greeted the man, and he mounted 
the sledge beside me, 

And as we talked on the way he told 
me of thee and thy homestead, 

How, being led by the light of the 
Spirit, that never deceiveth, 

Full of zeal for the work of the Lord, 
thou hadst come to this country. 

And I remembered thy name, and thy 
father and mother in England, 

And on my journey have stopped to 
see thee, Elizabeth Haddon, 

Wishing to strengthen thy hand in the 
labors of love thou art doing. " 

And Elizabeth answered with confi- 
dent voice, and serenely no 

Looking into his face with her inno- 
cent eyes as she answered, 

"Surely the hand of the Lord is in it ; 
his Spirit hath led thee 

Out of the darkness and storm to the 
light and peace of my fireside." 

Then, with stamping of feet the door 
was opened, and Joseph 

Entered, bearing the lantern, and, 
carefully blowing the light out, 

Hung it up on its nail, and all sat 
down to their supper; 

For underneath that roof was no dis- 
tinction of persons, 

But one family only, one heart, one 
hearth, and one household. 

When the supper was ended they 
drew their chairs to the fire- 
place, 



Spacious, open-hearted, profuse of 

flame and of firewood, 120 

Lord of forests unfelled, and not a 

gleaner of fagots, 
Spreading its arms to embrace with 

inexhaustible bounty 
All who fled from the cold, exultant, 

laughing at winter! 
Only Hannah the housemaid was busy 

in clearing the table, 
Coming and going, and bustling about 

in closet and chamber. 

Then Elizabeth told her story again 

to John Estaugh, 
Going far back to the past, to the 

early days of her childhood ; 
How she had waited and watched, in 

all her doubts and besetments, 
Comforted with the extendings and 

holy, sweet inflowings 
Of the spirit of love, till the voice im- 
perative sounded, 130 
And she obeyed the voice, and cast 

in her lot with her people 
Here in the desert land, and God 

would provide for the issue. 

Meanwhile Joseph sat with folded 
hands, and demurely 

Listened, or seemed to listen, and in 
the silence that followed 

Nothing was heard for a while but 
the step of Hannah the house- 
maid 

Walking the floor overhead, and set- 
ting the chambers in order. 

And Elizabeth said, with a smile of 
compassion, ' ' The maiden 

Hath a light heart in her breast, but 
her feet are heavy and awk 
ward. " 

Inwardly Joseph laughed, but gov- 
erned his tongue, and was si 
lent. 

Then came the hour of sleep, death's 

counterfeit, nightly rehearsal 140 
Of the great Silent Assembly, the 

Meeting of shadows, where no 

man 
Speaketh, but all are still, and the 

peace and rest are unbroken ! 
Silently over that house the blessing 

of slumber descended. 



34» 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



But when the morning dawned, and 

the sun uprose in his splendor, 
Breaking his way through clouds that 

encumbered his path in the 

heavens, 
Joseph was seen with his sled and 

oxen breaking a pathway 
Through the drifts of snow ; the horses 

already were harnessed, 



That had covered with leaves the 

Babes in the Wood, and blithely 
All the birds sang with him, and little 

cared for his boasting, 
Or for his Babes in the Wood, or the 

Cruel Uncle, and only 
Sang for the mates they had chosen, 

and cared for the nests they 

were building. 




" Then Elizabeth told her story again to John Estaugh ' 



And John Estaugh was standing and 
taking leave at the threshold. 

Saying that he should return at the 
Meeting in May ; while above 
them 

Hannah the housemaid, the homely, 
was looking out of the attic, 150 

Laughing aloud at Joseph, then sud- 
denly closing the casement, 

As the bird in a cuckoo-clock peeps 
out of its window, 

Then disappears again, and closes the 
shutter behind it. 



in 



Now 



was the winter gone, and the 
snow ; and Robin the Redbreast 
Boasted on bush and tree it was he, 
it was he and no other 



With them, but more ' sedately and 

meekly, Elizabeth Haddon 160 
Sang in her inmost heart, but her lips 

were silent and songless. 
Thus came the lovely spring with a 

rush of blossoms and music, 
Flooding the earth with flowers, and 

the air with melodies vernal. 

Then it came to pass, one pleasant 

morning, that slowly 
Up the road there came a cavalcade, 

as of pilgrims, 
Men and women, wending their way 

to the Quarterly Meeting 
In the neighboring town; and with 

them came riding John Estaugh. 
At Elizabeth's door they stopped to 

rest, and alighting 



THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE 



349 



Tasted the currant wine, aud the 
bread of rye, and the honey 

Brought from the hives, that stood by 
the sunny wall of the gar- 
den; 

Then remounted their horses, re- 
freshed, and continued their 



journey, 171 

And Elizabeth with them, and Joseph, 
and Hannah the housemaid. 

But, as they started, Elizabeth lin- 
gered a little, and leaning 

Over her horse's neck, in a whisper 
said to John Estaugh : 

"Tarry awhile behind, for I have 
something to tell thee, 

Not to be spoken lightly, nor in the . 
presence of others ; 

Them it concerneth not, only thee and 
me it concerneth." 

And they rode slowly along through 
the woods, conversing together. 

It was a pleasure to breathe the fra- 
grant air of the forest ; 

It was a pleasure to live on that bright 
and happy May morning ! 180 

Then Elizabeth said, though still 

with a certain reluctance, 
As if impelled to reveal a secret she 

fain would have guarded : 
"I will no longer conceal what is laid 

upon me to tell thee ; 
I have received from the Lord a charge 

to love thee, John Estaugh." 

And John Estaugh made answer, 
surprised at the words she had 
spoken, 

"Pleasant to me are thy converse, 
thy ways, thy meekness of 
spirit ; 

Pleasant thy frankness of speech, and 
thy soul's immaculate white- 
ness, 

Love without dissimulation, a holy 
and inward adorning. 

But I have yet no light to lead me, no 
voice to direct me. 

When the Lord's work is done, and 
the toil and the labor com- 
pleted 190 

He hath appointed to me, I will gath- 
er into the stillness 

Of my own heart awhile, and listen 
and wait for his guidance." 



Then Elizabeth said, not troubled 

nor wounded in spirit, 
"So is it best, John Estaugh. We 

will not speak of it further. 
It hath been laid upon me to tell thee 

this, for to-morrow 
Thou art going away, across the sea, 

and I know not 
When I shall see thee more; but if the 

Lord hath decreed it, 
Thou wilt return again to seek me 

here and to find me." 
And they rode onward in silence, and 
/ entered the town with the 

others. 



/ 



Ships that pass in the night, and speak 

each other in passing, 200 

Only a signal shown and a distant 

voice in the darkness ; 
So on the ocean of life, we pass and 

speak one another, 
Only a look and a voice, then darkness 

again and a silence. 

Now went on as of old the quiet 

life of the homestead. 
Patient and unrepining Elizabeth 

labored, in all things 
Mindful not of herself, but bearing 

the burden of others, 
Always thoughtful and kind and 

untroubled; and Hannah the 

housemaid 
Diligent early and late, and rosy with 

washing and scouring, 
Still as of old disparaged the eminent 

merits of Joseph, 
And was at times reproved for her 

light and frothy behavior, 210 
For her shy looks, and her careless 

words, and her evil surmisings, 
Being pressed down somewhat, like a 

cart with sheaves overladen, 
As she would sometimes say to Joseph, 

quoting the Scriptures. 

Meanwhile John Estaugh departed 
across the sea, and departing 

Carried hid in his heart a secret sacred 
and precious, 

Filling its chambers with fragrance, 
and seeming to him in its sweet- 
ness 



35° 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Mary's ointment of spikenard, that 
filled all the house with its odor. 

O lost days of delight, that are wasted 
in doubting and waiting ! 

O lost hours and days in which we 
might have been happy ! 

But the light shone at last, and guided 
his wavering footsteps, 220 

And at last came the voice, impera- 
tive, questionless, certain. 

Then John Estaugh came back o'er 

the sea for the gift that was 

offered, 
Better than houses and lands, the gift 

of a woman's affection. 
And on the First-Day that followed, 

he rose in the Silent Assembly, 
Holding in his strong hand a hand 

that trembled a little, 
Promising to be kind and true and 

faithful in all things. 
Such were the marriage rites of John 

and Elizabeth Estaugh. 

And not otherwise Joseph, the hon- 
est, the diligent servant, 

Sped in his bashful wooing with 
homely Hannah the housemaid ; 

For when he asked her the question, 
she answered, "Nay;" and 
then added : 230 

" But thee may make believe, and see 
what will come of it, Joseph." 



INTERLUDE 

" A pleasant and a winsome tale," 
The Student said, "though somewhat 

pale 
Arid quiet in its coloring, 
As if it caught its tone and air 
From the gray suits that Quakers 

wear ; 
Yet worthy of some German bard, 
Hebel, or Voss, or Eberhard, 
Who love of humble themes to sing, 
In humble verse ; but no more true 
Than was the tale I told to you." 10 

The Theologian made reply, 

And with some warmth, "That I 

deny ; 
'T is no invention of my own, 
But something well and widely known 



To readers of a riper age, 

Writ by the skilful hand that wrote 

The Indian tale of Hobomok, 

And Philothea's classic page. 

I found it like a waif afloat, 

Or dulse uprooted from its rock, 20 

On the swift tides that ebb and flow 

In daily papers, and at flood 

Bear freighted vessels to and fro, 

But later, when the ebb is low, 

Leave a long waste of sand and mud. " 

"It matters little," quoth the Jew ; 
"The cloak of truth is lined with 

lies, 
Sayeth some proverb old and wise ; 
And Love is master of all arts, 
And puts it into human hearts 30 

The strangest things to say and do." 

And here the controversy closed 

Abruptly, ere 't was well begun ; 

For the Sicilian interposed 

With, ' ' Lordlings, listen, every one 

That listen may, unto a tale 

That 's merrier than the nightingale ; 

A tale that cannot boast, forsooth, 

A single rag or shred of truth ; 

That does not leave the mind in 

doubt 
As to the with it or without : 41 

A naked falsehood and absurd 
As mortal ever told or heard. 
Therefore I tell it ; or, maybe, 
Simply because it pleases me." 



THE SICILIAN'S TALE 

THE MONK OF CASAL-MAGGIORE 

Once on a time, some centuries ago, 
In the hot sunshine two Franciscan 

friars 
Wended their weary way, with foot- 
steps slow, 
Back to their convent, whose white 

walls and spires 
Gleamed on the hillside like a patch of 

snow ; 
Covered with dust they were, and 

torn by briers, 
And bore like sumpter-mules upon 

their backs 
The badge of poverty, their beggar's 

sacks. 



THE SICILIAN'S TALE 



35 1 



The first was Brother Anthony, a 
spare 
And silent man, with pallid cheeks 
and thin, 10 

Much given to vigils, penance, fasting, 
prayer, 
Solemn and gray, and worn with 
discipline, 
As if his body but white ashes were, 
Heaped on the living coals that 
glowed within ; 
A simple monk, like many of his day, 
Whose instinct was to listen and obey. 

A different man was Brother Timothy, 

Of larger mould and of a coarser 

paste ; 

A rubicund and stalwart monk was he, 

Broad in the shoulders, broader in 

the waist, 20 

Who often filled the dull refectory 



With noise by which the convent 

was disgraced, 
But to the mass-book gave but little 

heed, 
By reason he had never learned to read. 

Now, as they passed the outskirts of 

a wood, 
They saw, with mingled pleasure 

and surprise, 
Fast tethered to a tree an ass, that stood 
Lazily winking his large, limpid 

eyes. 
The farmer Gilbert, of that neighbor- 
hood, 
His owner was, who, looking for 

supplies 30 

Of fagots, deeper in the wood had 

strayed, 
Leaving his beast to ponder in the 

shade. 




" Two Franciscan friars 
Wended their weary way, with footsteps slow : 



352 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



As soon as Brother Timothy espied 
The patient animal, he said : "Good- 
lack! 
Thus for our needs doth Providence 
provide ; 
We '11 lay our wallets on the crea- 
ture's back." 
This being done, he leisurely untied 
From head and neck the halter of 
the jack, 
And put it round his own, and to the 

tree 
Stood tethered fast as if the ass were 
he. 40 

And, bursting forth into a merry 

laugh, 
He cried to Brother Anthony : 

"Away ! 
And drive the ass before you with 

your staff ; 
And when you reach the convent 

you may say 
You left me at a farm, half tired and 

half 
111 with a fever, for a night and day, 
And that the farmer lent this ass to 

bear 
Our wallets, that are heavy with good 

fare." 

Now Brother Anthony, who knew the 

pranks 
Of Brother Timothy, would not per- 
suade 50 
Or reason with him on his quirks and 

cranks, 
But, being obedient, silently 

obeyed ; 
And, smiting with his staff the ass's 

flanks, 
Drove him before him over hill and 

glade, 
Safe with his provend to the convent 

gate, 
Leaving poor Brother Timothy to his 

fate. 

Then Gilbert, laden with fagots for 
his fire, 
Forth issued from the wood, and 
stood aghast 
To see the ponderous body of the 
friar 
Standing where he had left his don- 
key last. 60 



Trembling he stood, and dared not 

venture nigher, 
But stared, and gaped, and crossed 

himself full fast; 
For, being credulous and of little 

wit, 
He thought it was some demon from 

the pit. 

While speechless and bewildered thus 

he gazed, 
And dropped his load of fagots on 

the ground, 
Quoth Brother Timothy: "Be not 

amazed 
That where you left a donkey should 

be found 
A poor Franciscan friar, half -starved 

and crazed, 
Standing demure and with a halter 

bound ; 70 

But set me free, and hear the piteous 

story 
Of Brother Timothy of Casal-Mag- 

giore. 

"I am a sinful man, although you 

see 
I wear the consecrated cowl and 

cape ; 
You never owned an ass, but you 

owned me, 
Changed and transformed from my 

own natural shape 
All for the deadly sin of gluttony, 
From which I could not otherwise 

escape, 
Than by this penance, dieting on 

grass, 
And being worked and beaten as an 

ass. 80 

' ' Think of the ignominy I endured ; 

Think of the miserable life I led, 
The toil and blows to which I was in- 
ured, 
My wretched lodging in a windy 
shed, 
My scanty fare so grudgingly pro- 
cured, 
The damp and musty straw that 
formed my bed! 
But, having done this penance for my 

sins, 
My life as man and monk again be- 
gins." 



THE SICILIAN'S TALE 



353 



The simple Gilbert, hearing words like 
these, 
Was conscience-stricken, and fell 
down apace 90 

Before the friar upon his bended 
knees, 
And with a suppliant voice implored 
his grace ; 
And the good monk, now very much 
at ease, 
Granted him pardon with a smiling 
- face, 
Nor could refuse to be that night his 

guest, 
It being late, and he in need of rest. 



Like Claudian's Old Man of Verona 

here 
Measure by fruits the slow-revolving 

year. 

And, coming to this cottage of content, 
They found his children, and the 
buxom wench 
His wife, Dame Cicely, and his father, 
bent 
With years and labor, seated on a 
bench, 
Repeating over some obscure event 
In the old wars of Milanese and 
French ; no 




' For all believed the story, and began 
To see a saint in this afflicted man " 



Upon a hillside, where the olive 
thrives, 
With figures painted on its white- 
washed walls, 
The cottage stood ; and near the hum- 
ming hives 
Made murmurs as of far-off water- 
falls ; 100 
A place where those who love se- 
cluded lives 
Might live content, and, free from 
noise and brawls, 



All welcomed the Franciscan, with 

a sense 
Of sacred awe and humble reverence. 

When Gilbert told them what had 
come to pass, 
How beyond question, cavil, or sur- 
mise, 
Good Brother Timothy had been their 
ass, 
You should have seen the wonder 
in their eyes ; 



354 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



You should have heard them cry 
" Alas ! alas!" 
Have heard their lamentations and 
their sighs ! 
For all believed the story, and began 
To see a saint in this afflicted man. 120 

Forthwith there was prepared a grand 
repast, 
To satisfy the craving of the friar 
After so rigid and prolonged a fast ; 
The bustling housewife stirred the 
kitchen fire ; 
Then her two barn-yard fowls, her 
best and last, 
Were put to death, at her express 
desire, 
And served up with a salad in a bowl, 
And flasks of country wine to crown 
the whole. 

It would not be believed should I re- 
peat 
How hungry Brother Timothy ap- 
peared ; 130 
It was a pleasure but to see him eat, 
His white teeth flashing through his 
russet beard, 
His face aglow and flushed with wine 
and meat, 
His roguish eyes that rolled and 
laughed and leered ! 
Lord! how he drank the blood-red 

country wine 
As if the village vintage were divine ! 

And all the while he talked without 

surcease, 
And told his merry tales with jovial 

glee 
That never flagged, but rather did in- 
crease, 
And laughed aloud as if insane 

were he, 140 

And wagged his red beard, matted 

like a fleece, 
And cast such glances at Dame Cicely 
That Gilbert now grew angry with 

his guest, 
And thus in words his rising wrath 

expressed. 

"Good father," said he, "easily we 
see 
How needful in some persons, and 
how right, 



Mortification of the flesh may be. 
The indulgence you have given it 

to-night, 
After long penance, clearly proves to 

me 
Your strength against temptation 

is but slight, 15c 

And shows the dreadful peril you are 

in 
Of a relapse into your deadly sin. 

" To-morrow morning, with the rising 

sun, 
Go back unto your convent, nor re- 
frain 
From fasting and from scourging, for 

you run 
Great danger to become an ass 

again, 
Since monkish flesh and asinine are 

one ; 
Therefore be wise, nor longer here 

remain, 
Unless you wish the scourge should 

be applied 
By other hands, that will not spare 

your hide." 160 

When this the monk had heard, his . 

color fled 
And then returned, like lightning in 

the air, 
Till he was all one blush from foot to 

head, 
And even the bald spot in his russet 

hair 
Turned from its usual pallor to bright 

red! 
The old man was asleep upon his 

chair. 
Then all retired, and sank into the 

deep 
And helpless imbecility of sleep. 

They slept until the dawn of day 
drew near, 
Till the cock should have crowed, 
but did not crow, 170 

For they had slain the shining chanti- 
cleer 
And eaten him for supper, as you 
know. 
The monk was up betimes and of 
good cheer, 
And, having breakfasted, made 
haste to go, 



THE SICILIAN'S TALE 



355 



As if he heard the distant matin bell, 
And had but little time to say fare- 
well. 

Fresh was the morning as the breath 
of kine ; 
Odors of herbs commingled with 
the sweet 
Balsamic exhalations of the pine ; 
A haze was in the air presaging 
heat ; 180 

Uprose the sun above the Apennine, 

And all the misty valleys at its feet 
Were full of the delirious song of 

birds, 
Voices of men, and bells, and low of 
herds. 

All this to Brother Timothy was 

naught ; 
He did not care for scenery, nor here 
His busy fancy found the thing it 

sought ; 
But when he saw the convent walls 

appear, 
And smoke from kitchen chimneys 

upward caught 
And whirled aloft into the atmos- 
phere, i 9 o 
He quickened his slow footsteps, like 

a beast 
That scents the stable a league off at 

least. 

And as he entered through the con- 
vent gate 
He saw there in the court the ass, 
who stood 
Twirling his ears about, and seemed 
to wait, 
Just as he found him waiting in the 
wood ; 
And told the Prior that, to alleviate 

The daily labors of the brotherhood, 

The owner, being a man of means and 

thrift, 199 

Bestowed him on the convent as a gift. 

And thereupon the Prior for many 
days 
Revolved this serious matter in his 
mind, 
And turned it over many different 
ways, 
Hoping that some safe issue he 
might find ; 



But stood in fear of what the world 

would say, 
If he accepted presents of this kind, 
Employing beasts of burden for the 

packs 
That lazy monks should carry on their 

backs. 

Then, to avoid all scandal of the 
sort, 
And stop the mouth of cavil, he de- 
creed 210 

That he would cut the tedious matter 
short, 
And sell the ass with all convenient 
speed, 

Thus saving the expense of his sup- 
port, 
And hoarding something for a time 
of need. 

So he despatched him to the neighbor- 
ing Fair, 

And freed himself from cumber and 
from care. 

It happened now by chance, as some 
might say, 
Others perhaps would call it des- 
tiny, 

Gilbert was at the Fair ; and heard a 
bray, 
And nearer came, and saw that it 
was he, 220 

And whispered in his ear, "Ah, lack- 
ad ay ! 
Good father, the rebellious flesh, I 
see, 

Has changed you back into an ass 
again, 

And all my admonitions were in vain. " 

The ass, who felt this breathing in his 

ear, 
Did not turn round to look, but 

shook his head, 
As if he were not pleased these words 

to hear, 
And contradicted all that had been 

said. 
And this made Gilbert cry in voice 

more clear, 
"I know you well; your hair is 

russet-red ; 230 

Do not deny it ; for you are the same 
Franciscan friar, and Timothy by 

name." 



356 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



The ass, though now the secret had 

come out, 
Was obstinate, and shook his head 

again ; 
Until a crowd was gathered round 

about 
To hear this dialogue between the 

twain ; 
And raised their voices in a noisy- 
shout 
When Gilbert tried to make the 

matter plain, 
And flouted him and mocked him all 

day long 
With laughter and with jibes and 

scraps of song. 240 

"If this be Brother Timothy," they 

cried, 
"Buy him, and feed him on the 

tenderest grass ; 
Thou canst not do too much for one so 

tried 
As to be twice transformed into an 

ass. " 
So simple Gilbert bought him, and 

untied 
His halter, and o'er mountain and 

morass 
He led him homeward, talking as he 

went 
Of good behavior and a mind con- 
tent. 

The children saw them coming, and 
advanced, 
Shouting with joy, and hung about 
his neck, — 250 

Not Gilbert's, but the ass's, — round 
him danced, 
And wove green garlands where- 
withal to deck 
His sacred person ; for again it chanced 
Their childish feelings, without rein 
or check, 
Could not discriminate in any way 
A donkey from a friar of Orders Gray. 

"O Brother Timothy," the children 
said, 
" You have come back to us just as 
before ; 
We were afraid, and thought that you 
were dead, 
And we should never see you any 
more," 260 



And then they kissed the white star 
on his head, 
That like a birth-mark or a badge 
he wore, 

And patted him upon the neck and 
face, 

And said a thousand things with child- 
ish grace. 

Thenceforward and forever he was. 
known 
As Brother Timothy, and led alway 
A life of luxury, till he had grown 
Ungrateful, being stuffed with corn 
and hay, 
And very vicious. Then in angry tone, 
Rousing himself, poor Gilbert said 
one day, 270 

' • When simple kindness is misunder- 
stood 
A little flagellation may do good." 

His many vices need not here be told ; 
Among them was a 'habit that he had 
Of flinging up his heels at young and 
old, 
Breaking his halter, running off like 
mad 
O'er pasture-lands and meadow, wood 
and wold, 
And other misdemeanors quite as 
bad; 
But worst of all was breaking from 

his shed 
At night, and ravaging the cabbage- 
bed. 280 

So Brother Timothy went back once 
more 
To his old life of labor and distress ; 
Was beaten worse than he had been 
before ; 
And now, instead of comfort and 
caress, 
Came labors manifold and trials sore ; 
And as his toils increased his food 
grew less, 
Until at last the great consoler, Death, 
Ended his many sufferings with his 
breath. 

Great was the lamentation when he 

died ; 289 

And mainly that he died impenitent ; 

Dame Cicely bewailed, the children 
cried, 



THE SPANISH JEW'S SECOND TALE 



357 



The old man still remembered the 
event 
In the French war, and Gilbert mag- 
nified 
His many virtues, as he came and 
went, 
And said: "Heaven pardon Brother 

Timothy, 
And keep us from the sin of gluttony." 



INTERLUDE 

" Signor Ltjigi," said the Jew, 
When the Sicilian's tale was told, 
"The were-wolf is a legend old, 
But the were -ass is something new, 



Remain within the realm of song. 
The story that I told before, 
Though not acceptable to all, 
At least you did not find too long. 
I beg you, let me try again, 
With something in a different vein, 
Before you bid the curtain fall. 19 

Meanwhile keep watch upon the door, 
Nor let the Landlord leave his chair, 
Lest he should vanish into air. 
And so elude our search once more." 

Thus saying, from his lips he blew 
A little cloud of perfumed breath, 
And then, as if it were a clew 
To lead his footsteps safely through, 
Began his tale as followeth. 




And wove green garlands wherewithal to deck 
His sacred person ' ' 



And yet for one I think it true. 
The days of wonder have not ceased ; 
If there are beasts in forms of men, 
As sure it happens now and then, 
Why may not man become a beast, 
In way of punishment at least ? 

"But this I will not now discuss; 
I leave the theme, that we may thus 



THE SPANISH JEW'S SECOND 
TALE 

SCANDERBEG 

The battle is fought and won 
By King Ladislaus, the Hun, 
In fire of hell and death's frost, 
On the day of Pentecost. 



358 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



And in rout before his path 
From the field of battle red 
Flee all that are not dead 
Of the army of Amurath. 

In the darkness of the night 

Iskander, the pride and boast 10 

Of that mighty Othman host, 

With his routed Turks, takes flight 

From the battle fought and lost 

On the day of Pentecost ; 

Leaving behind him dead 

The army of Amurath, 

The vanguard as it led, 

The rearguard as it fled, 

Mown down in the bloody swath 

Of the battle's aftermath. 20 

But he cared not for Hospodars, 
Nor for Baron or Yoivode, 
As on through the night he rode 
And gazed at the fateful stars, 
That were shining overhead ; 
But smote his steed with his staff,. 
And smiled to himself, and said : 
"This is the time to laugh." 

In the middle of the night, 

In a halt of the hurrying flight, 30 

There came a Scribe of the King 

Wearing his signet ring, 

And said in a voice severe : 

' ' This is the first dark blot 

On thy name, George Castriot ! 

Alas ! why art thou here, 

And the army of Amurath slain, 

And left on the battle plain ? " 

And Iskander answered and said : 

"They lie on the bloody sod 40 

By the hoofs of horses trod ; 

But this was the decree 

Of the watchers overhead ; 

For the war belongeth to God, 

And in battle who are we, 

Who are we, that shall withstand 

The wind of his lifted hand ? " 

Then he bade them bind with chains 
This man of books and brains ; 
And the Scribe said : ' ' What misdeed 
Have I done, that, without need, 51 
Thou doest to me this thing ? •" 
And Iskander answering 
Said unto him : " Not one 
Misdeed to .me hast thou done ; 



70 



But for fear that thou shouldst run 
And hide thyself from me, 
Have I done this unto thee. 

"Now write me a writing, O Scribe, 

And a blessing be on thy tribe ! e 

A writing sealed with thy ring, 

To King Amurath' s Pasha 

In the city of Croia, 

The city moated and walled, 

That he surrender the same 

In the name of my master, the King 

For what is writ in his name 

Can never be recalled." 

And the Scribe bowed low in dread, 

And unto Iskander said : 

"Allah is great and just, 

But we are as ashes and dust ; 

How shall I do this thing, 

When I know that my guilty head 

Will be forfeit to the King ?" 



Then swift as a shooting star 

The curved and shining blade 

Of Iskander's scimitar 

From its sheath, with jewels bright, 

Shot, as he thundered : "Write ! " 80 

And the trembling Scribe obeyed, 

And wrote in the fitful glare 

Of the bivouac fire apart, 

With the chill of the midnight air 

On his forehead white and bare, 

And the chill of death in his heart. 

Then again Iskander cried : 

" Now follow whither I ride, 

For here thou must not stay. 

Thou shalt be as my dearest friend, 90 

And honors without end 

Shall surround thee on every side, 

And attend thee night and day." 

But the sullen Scribe replied : 

" Our pathways here divide ; 

Mine leadeth not thy way." 

And even as he spoke 

Fell a sudden scimitar stroke, 

When no one else was near ; 

And the Scribe sank to the ground, 100 

As a stone, pushed from the brink 

Of a black pool, might sink 

With a sob and disappear ; 

And no one saw the deed ; 

And in the stillness around 

No sound was heard but the sound 



INTERLUDE 



359 



Of the hoofs of Iskander's steed, 
As forward he sprang with a bound. 

Then onward he rode and afar, 

With scarce three hundred men, no 

Through river and forest and fen, 

O'er the mountains of Argentar ; 

And his heart was merry within, 

When he crossed the river Drin, 

And saw in the gleam of the morn 

The White Castle Ak-Hissar, 

The city Croia called, 

The city moated and walled, 

The city where he was born, — 

And above it the morning star. 120 

Then his trumpeters in the van 
On their silver bugles blew, 
And in crowds about him ran 
Albanian and Turkoman, 
That the sound together drew. 
And he feasted with his friends, 
And when they were warm with 

wine, 
He said : " O friends of mine, 
Behold what fortune sends, 
And what the fates design ! 130 

King Amurath commands 
That my father's wide domain, 
This city and all its lands, 
Shall be given to me again." 

Then to the Castle White 

He rode in regal state, 

And entered in at the gate 

In all his arms bedight, 

And gave to the Pasha 

Who ruled in Croia 140 

The writing of the King, 

Sealed with his signet ring. 

And the Pasha bowed his head 

And after a silence said : 

"Allah is just and great ! 

I yield to the will divine, 

The city and lands are thine ; 

Who shall contend with fate?" 

Anon from the castle walls 

The crescent banner falls, so 

And the crowd beholds instead, 

Like a portent in the sky, 

Iskander's banner fly. 

The Black Eagle with double head; 

And a shout ascends on high, 

For men's souls are tired of the Turks, 

And their wicked ways and works, 



That have made of Ak-Hissar 
A city of the plague ; 
And the loud, exultant cry 
That echoes wide and far 
Is : " Long live Scanderbeg! " 



16c 



It was thus Iskander came 

Once more unto his own ; 

And the tidings, like the flame 

Of a conflagration blown 

By the winds of summer, ran, 

Till the land was in a blaze, 

And the cities far and near, 

Sayeth Ben Joshua Ben Meir, 170 

In his Book of the Words of the Days, 

"Were taken as a man 

Would take the tip of his ear." 



INTERLUDE 

" Now that is after my own heart," 
The Poet cried ; ' ' one understands 
Your swarthy hero Scanderbeg, 
Gauntlet on hand and boot on leg, 
And skilled in every warlike art, 
Riding through his Albanian lands, 
And following the auspicious star 
That.shone for him o'er Ak-Hissar." 

The Theologian added here 

His word of praise not less sincere, 10 

Although he ended with a jibe; 

" The hero of romance and song 

Was born," he said, "to right the 

wrong; 
And I approve ; but all the same 
That bit of treason with the Scribe 
Adds nothing to your hero's fame." 

The Student praised the good old 

times, 
And liked the canter of the rhymes, 
That had a hoofbeat in their sound ; 
But longed some further word to 

hear 20 

Of the old chronicler Ben Meir, 
And where his volume might be 

found. 

The tall Musician walked the room 
With folded arms and gleaming eyes, 
As if he saw the Vikings rise, 
Gigantic shadows in the gloom ; 
And much he talked of their emprise 
And meteors seen in Northern skies, 



360 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



And Heimdal's horn, and day of 

doom. 
But the Sicilian laughed again ; 30 
•' This is the time to laugh," he said, 
For the whole story he well knew 
Was an invention of the Jew, 
Spun from the cobwebs in his brain, 
And of the same bright scarlet thread 
As was the Tale of Kambalu. 

Only the Landlord spake no word ; 
'T was doubtful whether he had heard 
The tale at all, so full of care 
Was he of his impending fate, 40 

That, like the sword of Damocles, 
Above his head hung blank and bare, 
Suspended by a single hair, 
So that he could not sit at ease, 
But sighed and looked disconsolate, 
And shifted restless in his chair, 
Revolving how he might evade 
The blow of the descending blade. 

The Student came to his relief 
By saying in his easy way 50 

To the Musician: "Calm your grief, 
My fair Apollo of the North, 
Balder the Beautiful and so forth ; 
Although your magic lyre or lute 
With broken strings is lying mute, 
Still you can tell some doleful tale 
Of shipwreck in a midnight gale, 
Or something of the kind to suit 
The mood that we are in to-night 
For what is marvellous and strange ; 60 
So give your nimble fancy range, 
And we will follow in its flight." 

But the Musician shook his head ; 
" No tale I tell to-night." he said, 
" While my poor instrument lies 

there, 
Even as a child with vacant stare 
Lies in its little coffin dead." 

Yet, being urged, he said at last : 
" There comes to me out of the Past 
A voice, whose tones are sweet and 

wild, 70 

Singing a song almost divine, 
And with a tear in every line ; 
An ancient ballad, that my nurse 
Sang to me when I was a child, 
In accents tender as the verse ; 
And sometimes wept, and sometimes 

smiled 



While singing it, to see arise 
The look of wonder in my eyes, 
And feel my heart with terror beat. 
This simple ballad I retain 80 

Clearly imprinted on my brain, 
And as a tale will now repeat." 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 

THE MOTHER'S GHOST 

Svend Dyking he rideth adown the 
glade ; 
I myself was young ! 
There he hath wooed him so winsome 
a maid ; 
Fair words gladden so many a 
heart. 

Together were they for seven years, 
And together children six were theirs. 

Then came Death abroad through the 

land, 
And blighted the beautiful lily-wand. 

Svend Dyring he rideth adown the 

glade, 
And again hath he wooed him another 

maid. 10 

He hath wooed him a maid and 

brought home a bride, 
But she was bitter and full of pride. 

When she came driving into the 

yard, 
There stood the six children weeping 

so hard. 

There stood the small children with 

sorrowful heart ; 
From before her feet she thrust them 

apart. 

She gave to them neither ale nor 

bread ; 
"Ye shall suffer hunger and hate," 

she said. 

She took from them their quilts of 

blue, 
And said: " Ye shall lie on the straw 

we strew." 20 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



361 



She took from them the great wax- 
light : 

"Now ye shall lie in the dark at 
night." 

In the evening late they cried with 

cold ; 
The mother heard it under the mould. 

The woman heard it the earth below : 
' ' To my little children I must go. " 

She standeth before the Lord of all : 
' ' And may I go to my children 
small?" 

She prayed him so long, and would 

not cease, 
Until he bade her depart in peace. 30 

" At cock - crow thou shalt return 

again ; 
Longer thou shalt not there remain ! " 



She girded up her sorrowful bones, 
And rifted the walls and the marble 
stones. 

As through the village she flitted by, 
The watch-dogs howled aloud to the 
sky. 

When she came to the castle gate, 
There stood her eldest daughter in 
wait. 

"Why standest thou here, dear 

daughter mine ? 
How fares it with brothers and sisters 

thine ? " 40 

" Never art; thou mother of mine, 
For my mother was both fair and fine. 

"My mother was white, with cheeks 

of red, 
But thou art pale, and like to the dead. " 




One she braided, another she brushed, 
The third she lifted, the fourth she hushed. 



362 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



w How should I be fair and fine ? 
I have been dead ; pale cheeks are 
mine. 

" How should I be white and red, 
So long, so long have I been dead ? " 

When she came in at the chamber 
door, 

There stood the small children weep- 
ing sore. 50 

One she braided, another she brushed, 
The third she lifted, the fourth she 
hushed. 

The fifth she took on her lap and 

pressed, 
As if she would suckle it at her 

breast. 

Then to her eldest daughter said she, 
"Do thou bid Svend Dyring come 
hither to me." 

Into the chamber when he came 

She spake to him in anger and shame. 

' ' I left behind me both ale and bread ; 
My children hunger and are not fed. 60 

" I left behind me quilts of blue ; 
My children lie on the straw ye strew. 

" I left behind me the great waxlight ; 
My children lie in the dark at night. 

" If I come again unto your hall, 
As cruel a fate shall you befall ! 

' ' Now crows the cock with feathers 

red; 
Back to the earth must all the dead. 

"Now crows the cock with, feathers 

swart ; 
The gates of heaven fly wide apart. 70 

"Now crows the cock with feathers 

white ; 
I can abide no longer to-night." 

Whenever they heard the watch-dogs 

wail, 
They gave the children bread and 

ale. 



Whenever they heard the watch-dogs 

bay, 
They feared lest the dead were on their 

way. 

Whenever they heard the watch-dogs 
bark, 
I myself was young ! 
They feared the dead out there in the 
dark. 
Fair words gladden so many a 
heart. 80 



INTERLUDE 

Touched by the pathos of these 

rhymes, 
The Theologian said : "All praise 
Be to the ballads of old times 
And to the bards of simple Ways, 
Who walked with Nature hand in 

hand, 
Whose country was their Holy Land, 
Whose singing robes were homespun 

brown 
From looms of their own native town, 
Which they were not ashamed to 

wear, 
And not of silk or sendal gay, 10 

Nor decked with fanciful array 
Of cockle-shells from Outre-Mer." 

To whom the Student answered: 

"Yes; 
All praise and honor ! I confess 
That bread and ale, home-baked, 

home-brewed, 
Are wholesome and nutritious food, 
But not enough for all our needs ; 
Poets — the best of them — are birds 
Of passage ; where their instinct leads 
They range abroad for thoughts and 

words, 20 

And from all climes bring home the 



That germinate in flowers or weeds. 
They are not fowls in barnyards born 
To cackle o'er a grain of corn; 
And, if you shut the horizon down 
To the small limits of their town, 
What do you do but degrade your 

bard 
Till he at last becomes as one 
Who thinks the all -en circling sun 
Rises and sets in his back yard? " 30 



THE LANDLORD'S TALE 



363 



The Theologian said again : 
11 It may be so; yet I maintain 
That what is native still is best, 
And little care I for the rest. 
'T is a long story ; time would fail 
To tell it, and the hour is late ; 
We will not waste it in debate, 
But listen to our Landlord's tale." 

And thus the sword of Damocles 
Descending not by slow degrees, 40 
But suddenly, on the Landlord fell, 
Who blushing, and with much demur 
And many vain apologies, 
Plucking up heart, began to tell 
The Rhyme of one Sir Christopher. 



THE LANDLORD'S TALE 

THE RHYME OF SIR CHRISTOPHER 

It was Sir Christopher Gardiner, 
Knight of the Holy Sepulchre, 
From Merry England over the sea, 
Who stepped upon this continent 
As if his august presence lent 
A glory to the colony. 

You should have seen him in the street 
Of the little Boston of Winthrop's time, 
His rapier dangling at his feet, 
Doublet and hose and boots complete, 
Prince Rupert hat with ostrich plume, 
Gloves that exhaled a faint perfume, 
Luxuriant curls and air sublime, 
And superior manners now obsolete ! 

He had a way of saying things 

That made one think of courts and 

kings, 
And lords and ladies of high degree ; 
So that not having been at court 
Seemed something very little short 
Of treason or lese-majesty, 20 

Such an accomplished knight was he. 

His dwelling was just beyond the 

town, 
At what he called his country-seat ; 
For, careless of Fortune's smile or 

frown, 
And weary grown of the world and 

its ways, 
He wished to pass the rest of his days 
In a private life and a calm retreat. 



But a double life was the life he led, 
And, while professing to be in search 
Of a godly course, and willing, he 
said, 30 

Nay, anxious to join the Puritan 

church, 
He made of all this but small ac- 
count, 
And passed his idle hours instead 
With roystering Morton of Merry 

Mount, 
That pettifogger from Furnival's Inn, 
Lord of misrule and riot and sin, 
Who looked on the wine when it was 
red. 

This country-seat was little more 
Than a cabin of logs ; but in front of 

the door 
A modest flower-bed thickly sown 40 
With sweet alyssum and columbine 
Made those who saw it at once divine 
The touch of some other hand than his 

own. 
And first it was whispered, and then it 

was known, 
That he in secret was harboring there 
A little lady with golden hair, 
Whom he called his cousin, but w T hom 

he had wed 
In the Italian manner, as men said, 
And great was the scandal every- 
where. 

But worse than this was the vague 
surmise, 50 

Though none could vouch for it or 
aver, 

That the Knight of the Holy Sepul- 
chre 

Was only a Papist in disguise ; 

And the more to imbitter their bitter 
lives, 

And the more to trouble the public 
mind, 

Came letters from England, from two 
other wives, 

Whom he had carelessly left behind ; 

Both of them letters of such a kind 

As made the governor hold his breath; 

The one imploring him straight to 
send 60 

The husband home, that he might 
amend ; 

The other asking his instant death, 

As the only way to make an end. 



364 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 




Gathering in the bright sunshine 
The sweet alyssum and columbine ' 



The wary governor deemed it right, 
When all this wickedness was revealed, 
To send his warrant signed and sealed, 
And take the body of the knight. 
Armed with this mighty instrument, 
The marshal, mounting his gallant 

steed, 
Rode forth from town at the top of his 

speed, 70 

And followed by all his bailiffs bold, 
As if on high achievement bent, 
To storm some castle or stronghold, 
Challenge the warders on the wall, 
And seize in his ancestral hall 
A robber-baron grim and old. 

But when through all the dust and heat 
He came to Sir Christopher's country- 
seat, 



No knight he found, nor warder there, 
But the little lady with golden hair, 80 
Who was gathering in the bright sun- 
shine 
The sweet alyssum and columbine; 
While gallant Sir Christopher, all so 

gay, 
Being forewarned, through the pos- 
tern gate 
Of his castle wall had tripped away, 
And was keeping a little holiday 
In the forests, that bounded his estate. 

Then as a trusty squire and true 
The marshal searched the castle 

through, 
Not crediting what the lady said ; 90 
Searched from cellar to garret in vain, 
And, finding no knight, came out again 



THE LANDLORD'S TALE 



365 



And arrested the golden damsel in- 
stead, 

And bore her in triumph into the 
town, 

While from her eyes the tears rolled 
down 

On the sweet alyssuni and colum- 
bine, 

That she held in her fingers white and 
fine. 

The governor's heart was moved to 

see 
So fair a creature caught within 
The snares of Satan and of sin, 100 

And he read her a little homily 
On the folly and wickedness of the 

lives 



Of women half cousins and half wives ; 
But, seeing that naught his words 

availed, 
He sent her away in a ship that 

sailed 
For Merry England over the sea, 
To the other two wives in the old 

countree, 
To search her further, since he had 

failed 
To come at the heart of the mystery. 

Meanwhile Sir Christopher wandered 
away no 

Through pathless woods for a month 
and a day, 

Shooting pigeons, and sleeping at 
night 




Through forest and field, and hunted him down " 



366 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



With the noble savage, who took de- 
light 
In his feathered hat and his velvet 

vest, 
His gun and his rapier and the rest. 
But as soon as the noble savage 

heard 
That a bounty was offered for this gay 

bird, 
He wanted to slay him out of hand, 
And bring in his beautiful scalp for a 

show, n 9 

Like the glossy head of a kite or 

crow, 
Until he was made to understand 
They wanted the bird alive, not 

dead; 
Then he followed him whithersoever 

he fled, 
Through forest and field, and hunted 

him down, 
And brought him prisoner into the 

town. 

Alas ! it was a rueful sight, 

To see this melancholy knight 

In such a dismal and hapless case ; 

His hat deformed by stain and dent, 

His plumage broken, his doublet 

rent, 
His beard and flowing locks forlorn, 
Matted, dishevelled, and unshorn, 132 
His boots with dust and mire be- 
sprent; 
But dignified in his disgrace, 
And wearing an unblushing face. 
And thus before the magistrate 
He stood to hear the doom of fate. 
In vain he strove with wonted ease 
To modify and extenuate 
His evil deeds in church and state, 140 
For gone was now his power to please ; 
And his pompous words had no more 

weight 
Than feathers flying in the breeze. 

With suavity equal to his own 
The governor lent a patient ear 
To the speech evasive and high-flown, 
In which he endeavored to make clear 
That colonial laws were too severe 
When applied to a gallant cavalier, 
A gentleman born, and so well 

known, 150 

And accustomed to move in a higher 

sphere. 



All this the Puritan governor heard, 
And deigned in answer never a word ; 
But in summary manner shipped 

away, 
In a vessel that sailed from Salem Bay, 
This splendid and famous cavalier, I 
With his Rupert hat and his popery, 
To Merry England over the sea, 
As being unmeet to inhabit here. 

Thus endeth the Rhyme of Sir Chris- 
topher, 160 

Knight of the Holy Sepulchre, 

The first who furnished this barren 
land 

With apples of Sodom and ropes of 
sand. 



merry 



FINALE 

These are the tales those 

guests 

Told to each other, well or ill ; 
Like summer birds that lift their crests 
Above the borders of their nests 
And twitter, and again are still. 

These are the tales, or new or old, 

In idle moments idly told ; 

Flowers of the field with petals 

thin, 
Lilies that neither toil nor spin, 
And tufts of wayside weeds and 

gorse iq 

Hung in the parlor of the inn 
Beneath the sign of the Red Horse. 

And still, reluctant to retire, 
The friends sat talking by the fire 
And watched the smouldering embers 

burn 
To ashes, and flash up again 
Into a momentary glow, 
Lingering like them when forced to 

go, 
And going when they would re- 
main ; 
For on the morrow they must turn 20 
Their faces homeward, and the pain 
Of parting touched with its unrest 
A tender nerve in every breast. 

But sleep at last the victory won; 
They must be stirring with the sun, 
And drowsily good night they said, 



FINALE 



367 



And went still gossiping to bed, 
And left the parlor wrapped in gloom. 
The only live thing in the room 
Was the old clock, that in its pace 30 
Kept time with the revolving spheres 
And constellations in their flight 
And struck with its uplifted mace 
The dark, unconscious hours of night, 
To senseless and unlistening ears. 

Uprose the sun ; and every guest, 
Uprisen, was soon equipped and 

dressed 
For journeying home and city-ward ; 
The old stage-coach was at the door, 
With horses harnessed, long before 40 
The sunshine reached the withered 

sward 
Beneath the oaks, whose branches 

hoar 
Murmured : ' ' Farewell f orevermore. " 

"Farewell!" the portly Landlord 
cried ; 

" Farewell ! " the parting guests re- 
plied, 



But little thought that nevermore 
Their feet would pass that threshold 

o'er ; 
That nevermore together there 
Would they assemble, free from care, 
To hear the oaks'^mysterious roar, 50 
And breathe the wholesome country 

air. 

Where are they now? What lands 

and skies 
Paint pictures in their friendly eyes? 
What hope deludes, what promise 

cheers, 
What pleasant voices fill their ears? 
Two are beyond the salt sea waves, 
And three already in their graves. 
Perchance the living still may look 
Into the pages of this book, 
And see the days of long ago 60 

Floating and fleeting to and fro, 
As in the well-remembered brook 
They saw the inverted landscape 

gleam, 
And their own faces like a dream 
Look up upon them from below. 



m 




Over the shining sands the wandering cattle homeward 

Follow each other at your call, O Bells of Lynn ! " (See p. 373.) 



FLOWER-DE-LUCE 



FLOWER-DE-LUCE 

Beautiful lily, dwelling by still 
rivers, 
Or solitary mere, 
Or where the sluggish meadow -brook 
delivers 
Its waters to the weir ! 

Thou laughest at the mill, the whir 
and worry 
Of spindle and of loom, 
And the great wheel that toils amid 
the hurry 
And rushing of the flume. 

Born in the purple, born to joy and 
pleasance, 
Thou dost not toil nor spin, 
But makest glad and radiant with thy 
presence 
The meadow and the lin. 

The wind blows, and uplifts thy 
drooping banner, 
And round thee throng and run 



The rushes, the green yeomen of thy 
manor, 
The outlaws of the sun. 

The burnished dragon-fly is thy at- 
tendant, 
And tilts against the field, 
And down the listed sunbeam rides 
resplendent 
With steel-blue mail and shield. 

Thou art the Iris, fair among the fair- 
est, 
Who, armed with golden rod 
And winged with the celestial azure, 
bearest 
The message of some God. 

Thou art the Muse, who far from 
crowded cities 
Hauntest the sylvan streams, 
Playing on pipes of reed the artless 
ditties 
That come to us as dreams. 



PALINGENESIS 



369 



O flower-de-luce, bloom on, and let 
the river 
Linger to kiss thy feet ! 
O flower of song, bloom on, and make 
forever 
The world more fair and sweet. 



PALINGENESIS 

I lay upon the headland-height, and 

listened 
To the incessant sobbing of the sea 

In caverns under me, 
And watched the waves, that tossed 

and fled and glistened, 
Until the rolling meadows of amethyst 
Melted away in mist. 

Then suddenly, as one from sleep, I 

started ; 
For round about me all the sunny 

capes 
Seemed peopled with the shapes 
Of those whom I had known in days 

departed, 10 

Apparelled in the loveliness which 

gleams 
On faces seen in dreams. 

A moment only, and the light and 

glory 
Faded away, and the disconsolate 
shore 
Stood lonely as before ; 
And the wild-roses of the promontory 
Around me shuddered in the wind, 
and shed 
Their petals of pale red. 

There was an old belief that in the 

embers 
Of all things their primordial form 

exists, 20 

And cunning alchemists 
Could re-create the rose with all its 

members 
From its own ashes, but without the 

bloom, 
Without the lost perfume. 

Ah me ! what wonder-working, occult 

science 
Can from the ashes in our hearts once 

more 
The rose of youth restore ? 



What craft of alchemy can bid defi- 
ance 

To time and change, and for a single 
hour 
Renew this phantom-flower ? 30 

"Oh, give me back," I cried, "the 

vanished splendors, 
The breath of morn, and the exultant 
strife, 
When the swift stream of life 
Bounds o'er its rocky channel, and 

surrenders 
The pond, with all its lilies, for the leap 
Into the unknown deep ! " 

And the sea answered, with a lamen- 
tation, 
Like some old prophet wailing, and it 
said, 
' ' Alas ! thy youth is dead ! 
It breathes no more, its heart has no 
pulsation ; 40 

In the dark places with the dead of old 
It lies forever cold ! " 

Then said I, "From its consecrated 

cerements 
I will not drag this sacred dust again, 

Only to give me pain ; 
But, still remembering all the lost en- 
dearments, 
Go on my way, like one who looks be- 
fore, 
And turns to Weep no more." 

Into what land of harvests, what plan- 
tations 
Bright with autumnal foliage and the 
glow 50 

Of sunsets burning low ; 
Beneath what midnight skies, whose 

constellations 
Light up the spacious avenues between 
This world and the unseen ! 

Amid what friendly greetings and 
caresses, 

What households, though not alien, 
yet not mine, 
What bowers of rest divine ; 

To what temptations in lone wilder- 
nesses, 

What famine of the heart, what pain 
and loss, 
The bearing of what cross! 60 



37° 



FLOWER-DE-LUCE 



I do not know ; nor will I vainly ques- 
tion 
Those pages of the mystic book which 
hold 
The story still untold, 
But without rash conjecture or sug- 
gestion 
Turn its last leaves in reverence and 
good heed, 
Until "The End" I read. 



THE BRIDGE OF CLOUD 

Burn, O evening hearth, and waken 
Pleasant visions, as of old ! 

Though the house by winds be shaken, 
Safe I keep this room of gold ! 

Ah, no longer wizard Fancy 
Builds her castles in the air, 

Luring me by necromancy 
Up the never-ending stair ! 

But, instead, she builds me bridges 

Over many a dark ravine, 
Where beneath the gusty ridges 

Cataracts dash and roar unseen. 

And I cross them, little heeding 
Blast of wind or torrent's roar, 

As I follow the receding 
Footsteps that have gone before. 

Naught avails the imploring gesture, 
If aught avails the cry of pain ! 

When I touch the flying vesture, 
'T is the gray robe of the rain. 

Baffled I return, and, leaning 
O'er the parapets of cloud, 

Watch the mist that intervening 
Wraps the valley in its shroud. 

And the sounds of life ascending 
Faintly, vaguely, meet the ear, 

Murmur of bells and voices blending 
With the rush of waters near. 

Well I know what there lies hidden, 
Every tower and town and farm, 

And again the land forbidden 
Reassumes its vanished charm. 

Well I know the secret places, 
And the nests in hedge and tree ; 



At what doors are friendly faces, 
In what hearts are thoughts of me. 

Through the mist and darkness sink- 
ing, 
Blown by wind and beaten by 
shower, 
Down I fling the thought I 'm thinking, 
Down I toss this Alpine flower. 



HAWTHORNE 

May 23, 1864 

How beautiful it was, that one bright 
day 
In the long week of rain! 
Though all its splendor could not chase 
away 
The omnipresent pain. 

The lovely town was white with 
apple-blooms, 
And the great elms o'erhead 
Dark shadows wove on their aerial 
looms 
Shot through with golden thread. 

Across the meadows, by the gray old 
manse, 

The historic river flowed : 
I was as one who wanders in a trance, 

Unconscious of his road. 

The faces of familiar friends seemed 
strange ; 
Their voices I could hear, 
And yet the words they uttered seemed 
to change 
Their meaning to my ear. 

For the one face I looked for was not 
there, 

The one low voice was mute ; 
Only an unseen presence filled the air. 

And baffled my pursuit. 

Now I look back, and meadow, manse, 
and stream 

Dimly my thought defines ; 
I only see — a dream within a dream — 

The hill-top hearsed with pines. 

I only hear above his place of rest 
Their tender undertone, 



CHRISTMAS BELLS 



37i 



The infinite longings of a troubled 
breast, 
The voice so like his own. 


And wild and sweet 
The words repeat 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! 


There in seclusion and remote from 


And thought how, as the day had 


men 
The wizard hand lies cold, 
Which at its topmost speed let fall the 

pen, 
And left the tale half told. 


come, 
The belfries of all Christendom 

Had rolled along 

The unbroken song 
Of peace on earth, good- will to men ! 


Ah ! who shall lift that wand of magic 
power, 
And the lost clew regain ? 
The unfinished window in Aladdin's 
tower 
Unfinished must remain ! 


Till, ringing, singing on its way, 
The world revolved from night to 
day, 

A voice, a chime, 

A chant sublime 
Of peace on earth, good- will to men! 




Across the meadows, by the gray old mause 



CHRISTMAS BELLS 

I heard the bells on Christmas Day 
Their old, familiar carols play, 



Then from each black, accursed mouth 
The cannon thundered in the South, 

And with the sound 

The carols drowned 
Of peace on earth, good -will to men! 



L 



372 



FLOWER-DE-LUCE 



It was as if an earthquake rent 
The hearth-stones of a continent, 

And made forlorn 

The households born 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men! 

And in despair I bowed my head ; 
" There is no peace on earth," I said ; 

' ' For hate is strong, 

And mocks the song 
Of peace on earth, good -will to 
men ! " 

Then pealed the bells more loud and 

deep : 
" God is not dead ; nor doth he sleep ! 
The Wrong shall fail, 
The Right prevail, 
With peace on earth, good-will to 
men!" 



, THE WIND OVER THE CHIM- 
NEY 

See, the fire is sinking low, 
Dusky red the embers glow, 

While above them still I cower, 
While a moment more I linger, 
Though the clock, with lifted finger, 

Points beyond the midnight hour. 

Sings the blackened log a tune 
Learned in some forgotten June 

From a school-boy at his play, 9 
When they both were young together, 
Heart of youth and summer weather 

Making all their holiday. 

And the night-wind rising, hark ! 
How above there in the dark, 

In the midnight and the snow, 
Ever wilder, fiercer, grander, 
Like the trumpets of Iskander, 

All the noisy chimneys blow ! 

Every quivering tongue of flame 
Seems to murmur some great name, 20 

Seems to say to me, " Aspire ! " 
But the night-wind answers, " Hollow 
Are the visions that you follow, 

Into darkness sinks your fire ! " 

Then the flicker of the blaze 
Gleams on volumes of old days, 
Written by masters of the art, 



Loud through whose majestic pages 
Rolls the melody of ages, 
Throb the harp -strings of the 
heart. 30 

And again the tongues of flame 
Start exulting and exclaim; 

" These are prophets, bards, and 
seers ; 
In the horoscope of nations, 
Like ascendant constellations, 

They control the coming years." 

But the night-wind cries : " Despair! 
Those who walk with feet of air 

Leave no long-enduring marks ; 
At God's forges incandescent 40 

Mighty hammers beat incessant, 

These are but the flying sparks. 

"Dust are all the hands that wrought ; 
Books are sepulchres of thought; 

The dead laurels of ttie dead 
Rustle for a moment only, 
Like the withered leaves in lonely 

Churchyards at some passing tread." 

Suddenly the flame sinks down ; 
Sink the rumors of renown ; 50 

And alone the night- wind drear 
Clamors louder, wilder, vaguer, — 
' "T is the brand of Meleager 

Dying on the hearth-stone here ! " 

And I answer, — ' ' Though it be, 
Why should that discomfort me ? 

No endeavor is in vain ; 
Its reward is in the doing, 
And the rapture of pursuing 

Is the prize the vanquished gain." 60 



THE BELLS OF LYNN 

HEARD AT NAHANT 

O curfew of the setting sun! O 

Bells of Lynn ! 
O requiem of the dying day ! O Bells 

of Lynn ! 

From the dark belfries of yon cloud- 
cathedral wafted, 

Your sounds aerial seem to float, O 
Bells of Lynn ! 



KILLED AT THE FORD 



373 



Borne on the evening wind across the 

crimson twilight, 
O'er land and sea they rise and fall, O 

Bells of Lynn ! 

The fisherman in his boat, far out be- 
yond the headland, 

Listens, and leisurely rows ashore, O 
Bells of Lynn ! 



KILLED AT THE FORD 

He is dead, the beautiful youth, 
The heart of honor, the tongue of 

truth, 
He, the life and light of us all, 
Whose voice was blithe as a bugle-call, 
Whom all eyes followed with one con- 
sent. 




The distant lighthouse hears 
Answers you " 



Over the shining sands the wandering 

cattle homeward 
Follow each other at your call, O 

Bells of Lynn ! 

The distant lighthouse hears, and with 

his flaming signal 
Answers you, passing the watchword 

on, O Bells of Lynn ! 

And down the darkening coast run 
the tumultuous surges, 

And clap their hands, and shout to 
you, O Bells of Lynn ! 

Till from the shuddering sea, with 
your wild incantations, 

Ye summon up the spectral moon, O 
Bells of Lynn ! 

And startled at the sight, like the 
weird woman of Endor, 

Ye cry aloud, and then are still, O 
Bells of Lynn ! 



The cheer of whose laugh, and whose 

pleasant word, 
Hushed all murmurs of discontent. 

Only last night, as we rode along, 
Down the dark of the mountain gap, 
To visit the picket-guard at the ford, 
Little dreaming of any mishap, 
He was humming the Avords of some- 
old song: 
" Two red roses he had on his cap 
And another he bore at the point of 
his sword." 

Sudden and swift a whistling ball 
Came out of a wood, and the voice 

was still ; 
Something I heard in the darkness 

fall, 
And for a moment my blood grew 

chill; 
I spake in a whisper, as he who 



374 



FLOWER-DE-LUCE 



In a room where some one is lying 

dead ; 
But he made no answer to what I 

said. 

We lifted him up to his saddle again, 
And through the mire and the mist 

and the rain 
Carried him back to the silent camp, 
And laid him as if asleep on his bed ; 
And I saw by the light of the sur- 
geon's lamp 
Two white roses upon his cheeks, 
And one, j ust over his heart, blood-red ! 

And I saw in a vision how far and 

fleet 
That fatal bullet went speeding forth, 
Till it reached a town in the distant 

North, 
Till it reached a house in a sunny 

street, 
Till it reached a heart that ceased to 

beat 
Without a murmur, without a cry ; 
And a bell was tolled, in that far-off 

town, 
For one who had passed from cross to 

crown, 
And the neighbors wondered that she 

should die. 



GIOTTO'S TOWER 

How many lives, made beautiful and 
sweet 

By self-devotion and by self-re- 
straint, 

Whose pleasure is to run without 
complaint 

On unknown errands of the Para- 
clete, 
Wanting the reverence of unshodden 
feet, 

Fail of the nimbus which the artists 
paint 

Around the shining forehead of the 
saint, 

And are in their completeness in- 
complete ! 
In the old Tuscan town stands Giotto's 
tower, 

The lily of Florence blossoming in 
stone, — 

A vision, a delight, and a desire, — 



The builder's perfect and centennial 

flower, 
That in the night of ages bloomed 

alone, 
But wanting still the glory of the 

spire. 



3. TO-MORROW 

'T is late at night, and in the realm of 
sleep 

My little lambs are folded like the 
flocks ; 

From room to room I hear the wake- 
ful clocks 

Challenge the passing hour, like 
guards that keep 
Their solitary watch on tower and 
steep ; 

Far off I hear the crowing of the 
cocks, 

And through the opening door that 
time unlocks 

Feel the fresh breathing of To-mor- 
row creep. 
To-morrow ! the mysterious, unknown 
guest, 

Who cries to me : " Remember Bar- 
mecide, 

And tremble to be happy with the 
rest." 
And I make answer : "I am satis- 
fied ; 

I dare not ask ; I know not what is 
best; 

God hath already said what shall 
betide." 



DIVINA COMMEDIA 



Oft have I seen at some cathedral door 
A laborer, pausing in the dust and 

heat, 
Lay down his burden, and with 

reverent feet 
Enter, and cross himself, and on the 
floor 
Kneel to repeat his paternoster o'er ; 
Far off the noises of the world re- 
treat ; 
The loud vociferations of the street 
Become an undistinguishable roar. 



DIVINA COMMEDIA 



375 



So, as I enter here from day to day, 


Ah ! from what agonies of heart and 


And leave my burden at this minster 


brain, 


gate, 


What exultations trampling on de- 


Kneeling in prayer, and not ashamed 


spair, 


to pray, 


What tenderness, what tears, what 


The tumult of the time disconsolate 


hate of wrong, 


To inarticulate murmurs dies away, 


What passionate outcry of a soul in 


While the eternal ages watch and 


pain, 


wait. 


Uprose this poem of the earth and 


ii 


air, 
This mediaeval miracle of song ! 


How strange the sculptures that adorn 




these towers! 




This crowd of statues, in whose 


in 


folded sleeves 


I enter, and I see thee in the gloom 


Birds build their nests ; while cano- 


Of the long aisles, poet satur- 


pied with leaves 


nine! 


Par vis and portal bloom like trel- 


And strive to make my steps keep 


lised bowers, 


pace with thine. 


And the vast minster seems a cross of 


The air is filled with some unknown 


flowers ! 


perfume ; 


But fiends and dragons on the gar- 


The congregation of the dead make 


goyled eaves 


room 


Watch the dead Christ between the 


For thee to pass ; the votive tapers 


living thieves, 


shine ; 


And, underneath, the traitor Judas 


Like rooks that haunt Eavenna's 


lowers ! 


groves of pine 





- -aii 


.' " : 


■i ~ ^ t~ x 


rr 


%; , ; 






\ '^ 


, /.*|S 




" .. ! 


; ^ " 








<f: 






■•\ 


■-■ 


y* 


. 




Of 




fl^H 


«8 




^^ ^ 






"■UN 







Kneel to repeat his paternoster o'er '■ 



376 



FLOWER-DE-LUCE 



The hovering echoes fly from tomb 
to tomb. 
From the confessionals I hear arise 
Rehearsals of forgotten tragedies, 
And lamentations from the crypts 
below ; 
And then a voice celestial that begins 
With the pathetic words, "Al- 
though your sins 
As scarlet be," and ends with "as 
the snow." 



IV 

With snow-white veil and garments 

as of flame, 
She stands before thee, who so long 

ago 
Filled thy young heart with passion 

and the woe 
From which thy song and all its 

splendors came ; 
And while with stern rebuke she 

speaks thy name, 
The ice about thy heart melts as the 

snow 
On mountain heights, and in swift 

overflow 
Comes gushing from thy lips in sobs 

of shame. 
Thou makest full confession; and a 

gleam, 
As of the dawn on some dark forest 

cast, 
Seems on thy lifted forehead to in- 
crease ; 
Lethe and Eunoe" — the remembered 

dream 
And the forgotten sorrow — bring 

at last 
That perfect pardon which is perfect 

peace. 



I lift mine eyes, and all the windows 
blaze 

With forms of Saints and holy men 
who died, 

Here martyred and hereafter glori- 
fied; 

And the great Rose upon its leaves 
displays 
Christ's Triumph, and the angelic 
roundelays, 

With splendor upon splendor multi- 
plied ; 



And Beatrice again at Dante's side 

No more rebukes, but smiles her 
words of praise. 
And then the organ sounds, and un- 
seen choirs 

Sing the old Latin hymns of peace 
and love 

And benedictions of the Holy Ghost ; 
And the melodious bells among the 
spires 

O'er all the house-tops and through 
heaven above 

Proclaim the elevation of the Host ! 



O star of morning and of liberty ! 

O bringer of the light, whose splen- 
dor shines 

Above the darkness of the Apen- 
nines, 

Forerunner of the day that is to be ! 
The voices of the city and the sea. 

The voices of the mountains and the 
pines, 

Repeat thy song, till the familiar 
lines 

Are footpaths for the thought of 
Italy ! 
Thy flame is blown abroad from all 
the heights, 

Through all the nations, and a 
sound is heard, 

As of a mighty wind, and men de- 
vout, 
Strangers of Rome, and the new prose- 
lytes, 

In their own language hear thy 
wondrous word, 

And many are amazed and many 
doubt. 

NOEL 

ENVOYE A M. AGASSIZ, LA VEILLE DE 
NOEL, 1864, AVEC UN PANIER DE 
VINS DIVERS 

L'Acad£mie en respect, 
Nonobstant l'incorrection 
A la faveur du sujet, 

Ture-lure, 
N'y fera point de rature ; 
Noel ! ture-lure-lure. 

Gui BaeQzai 

Quand les astres de Noe"l 
Brillaient, palpitaient au ciel, 



NOEL 



377 



Six gaillards, et chacun ivre, 
Chantaient gaiment dans le givre, 

"Bons amis, 
Allons done chez Agassiz! " 

Ces illustres Pelerins 

D'Outre-Mer adroits et fins, 

Se donnant des airs de pr§tre, 

A l'envi se vantaient d'etre 10 

' ' Bons amis, 
De Jean Kudolphe Agassiz ! " 

(Eil-de-Perdrix, grand farceur, 
Sans reproche et sans pudeur, 
Dans son patois de Bourgogne, 
Bredouillait comme nn ivrogne, 

' ' Bons amis, 
J'ai danse chez Agassiz ! " 

Verzenay le Champenois, 
Bon Francais, point New-Yorquois, 20 
Mais des environs d'Avize, 
Fredonne a mainte reprise, 

" Bons amis, 
J'ai chante chez Agassiz ! " 

A cote marchait un vieux 
Hidalgo, mais non mousseux ; 
Dans le temps de Charlemagne 
Fut son pere Grand d'Espagne ! 

' ' Bons amis, 
J'ai dine chez Agassiz ! " 30 

Derriere eux un Bordelais, 
Gascon, s'il en fut jamais, 
Parfume de poesie 
Riait, chantait, plein de vie, 



"Bons amis, 
J'ai soupe chez Agassiz ! " 

Avec ce beau cadet roux, 

Bras dessus et bras dessous, 

Mine altiere et couleur terne, 

Vint le Sire de Sau terne ; 40 

"Bons amis, 
J'ai couch e chez Agassiz ! " 

Mais le dernier de ces preux, 
Etait un pauvre Chartreux, 
Qui disait, d'un ton robuste, 
"Benedictions sur le Juste! 

Bons amis, 
Benissons P&re Agassiz!" 

lis arrivent trois a trois, 
Montent l'escalier de bois 50 

Clopin-clopant ! quel gendarme 
Peut permettre ce vacarme, 

Bons amis, 
A la porte d' Agassiz ! 

" Ouvrez done, mon bon Seigneur, 
Ouvrez vite et n'ayez peur ; 
Ouvrez, ouvrez, car nous sommes 
Gens de bien et gentilshommes, 

Bons amis 
De la famille Agassiz ! " 60 

Chut, ganaches ! taisez-vous ! 
C'en est trop de vos glouglous ; 
Epargnez aux Philosophes 
Yos abominables strophes ! 

Bons amis, 
Respectez mon Agassiz ! 




"A castle-builder, with his wooden blocks ' 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



FLIGHT THE THIRD 



FATA MORGANA 

O sweet illusions of Song, 
That tempt me everywhere, 

In the lonely fields, and the throng 
Of the crowded thoroughfare ! 



I approach, and ye vanish away, 
I grasp you, and ye are gone ; 

But ever by night and by day, 
The melody soundeth on. 



VOX POPULI 



379 



As the weary traveller sees 
In desert or prairie vast, 

Blue lakes overhung with trees, 
That a pleasant shadow cast ; 

Fair towns with turrets high, 
And shining roofs of gold, 

That vanish as he draws nigh, 
Like mists together rolled, — 

So I wander and wander along, 
And forever before me gleams 

The shining city of song, 
In the beautiful land of dreams. 

But when I would enter the gate 
Of that golden atmosphere, 

It is gone, and I wonder and wait 
For the vision to reappear. 



THE HAUNTED CHAMBER 

Each heart has its haunted chamber, 
Where the silent moonlight falls ! 

On the floor are mysterious footsteps, 
There are whispers along the walls ! 

And mine at times is haunted 

By phantoms of the Past, 
As motionless as shadows 

By the silent moonlight cast. 

A form sits by the window, 

That is not seen by day, 
For as soon as the dawn approaches 

It vanishes away. 

It sits there in the moonlight, 

Itself as pale and still, 
And points with its airy finger 

Across the window-sill. 

Without, before the window, 
There stands a gloomy pine, 

Whose boughs wave upward and 
downward 
As wave these thoughts of mine. 

And underneath its branches 
Is the grave of a little child, 

Who died upon life's threshold, 
And never wept nor smiled. 

What are ye, O pallid phantoms ! 
That haunt my troubled brain? 



That vanish when day approaches, 
And at night return again ? 

What are ye, O pallid phantoms! 

But the statues without breath, 
That stand on the bridge overarching 

The silent river of death? 



THE MEETING 

After so long an absence 

At last we meet again : 
Does the meeting give us pleasure, 

Or does it give us pain ? 

The tree of life has been shaken, 
And but few of us linger now, 

Like the Prophet's two or three ber- 
ries 
In the top of the uppermost bough. 

We cordially greet each other 

In the old, familiar tone ; 
And we think, though we do not say it, 

How old and gray he is grown ! 

We speak of a Merry Christmas 
And many a Happy New Year ; 

But each in his heart is thinking 
Of those that are not here. 



We speak of friends and their for- 
tunes, 

And of what they did and said, 
Till the dead alone seem living, 

And the living alone seem dead. 

And at last we hardly distinguish 
Between the ghosts and the guests ; 

And a mist and shadow of sadness 
Steals over our merriest jests. 



VOX POPULI 

When Mazarvan the Magician 
Journeyed westward through 
thay, 

Nothing heard he but the praises 
Of Badoura on his way. 

But the lessening rumor ended 
When he came to Khaledan, 

There the folk were talking only 
Of Prince Camaralzaman. 



Ca- 



3 8o 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



So it happens with the poets : 
Every province hath its own ; 

Camaralzaman is famous 
Where Badoura is unknown. 



THE CASTLE-BUILDER 

A gentle boy, with soft and silken 
locks, 
A dreamy boy, with brown and 
tender eyes, 
A castle-builder, with his wooden 
blocks, 
And towers that touch imaginary 
skies. 

A fearless rider on his father's knee, 
An eager listener unto stories told 

At the Round Table of the nursery, 
Of heroes and adventures manifold. 

There will be other towers for thee to 
build ; 
There will be other steeds for thee 
to ride ; 
There will be other legends, and all 
filled 
With greater marvels and more 
glorified. 

Build on, and make thy castles high 
and fair, 
Rising and reaching upward to the 
skies ; 
Listen to voices in the upper air, 
Nor lose thy simple faith in myste- 
ries. 



CHANGED 

From the outskirts of the town, 

Where of old the mile-stone stood, 
Now a stranger, looking down, 
I behold the shadowy crown 
Of the dark and haunted wood. 

Is it changed, or am I changed ? 

Ah ! the oaks are fresh and green, 
But the friends with whom I ranged 
Through their thickets are estranged 

By the years that intervene. 

Bright as ever flows the sea, 
Bright as ever shines the sun, 



But alas ! they seem to me 
Not the sun that used to be, 
Not the tides that used to run. 



THE CHALLENGE 

I have a vague remembrance 

Of a story, that is told 
In some ancient Spanish legend 

Or chronicle of old. 

It was when brave King Sanchez 

Was before Zamora slain, 
And his great besieging army 

Lay encamped upon the plain. 

Don Diego de Ordonez 

Sallied forth in front of all, 10 

And shouted loud his challenge 

To the warders on the wall. 

All the people of Zamora, 
Both the born and the unborn, 

As traitors did he challenge 
With taunting words of scorn. 

The living, in their houses, 
And in their graves, the dead ! 

And the waters of their rivers, 
And their wine, and oil, and bread ! 

There is a greater army, 21 

That besets us. round with strife, 

A starving, numberless army, 
At all the gates of life. 

The poverty-stricken millions 
Who challenge our wine and bread, 

And impeach us all as traitors, 
Both the living and the dead. 

And whenever I sit at the banquet, 
Where the feast and song are high, 

Amid the mirth and the music 31 

I can hear that fearful cry. 

And hollow and haggard faces 

Look into the lighted hall, 
And wasted hands are extended 

To catch the crumbs that fall. 

For within there is light and plenty, 

And odors fill the air ; 
But without there is cold and darkness, 

And hunger and despair. 40 



AFTERMATH 



381 



And there in the camp of famine 
In wind and cold and rain, 

Christ, the great Lord of the army, 
Lies dead upon the plain I 



THE BROOK AND THE WAVE 

The brooklet came from the mountain, 
As sang the bard of old, 



And has filled with its freshness and 
sweetness 
That turbulent, bitter heart ! 

AFTERMATH 

When the summer fields are mown, 
When the birds are fledged and flown, 
And the dry leaves strew the path ; 
With the falling of the snow, 




The brooklet came from the mountain : 



Running with feet of silver 
Over the sands of gold ! 

Far away in the briny ocean 
There rolled a turbulent wave, 

Now singing along the sea-beach, 
Now howling along the cave. 

And the brooklet has found the bil- 
low, 
Though they flowed so far apart, 



With the cawing of the crow, 
Once again the fields we mow 
And gather in the aftermath. 

Not the sweet, new grass with flowers 
Is this harvesting of ours; 

Not the upland clover bloom ; 
But the rowen mixed with weeds, 
Tangled tufts from marsh and meads, 
Where the poppy drops its seeds 

In the silence and the gloom. 




Thalia 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



THE WORKSHOP OF HEPH^S- 
TUS 



heph^estus {standing before the statue 
of Pandora). 

Not fashioned out of gold, like Hera's 
throne, 

Nor forged of iron like the thunder- 
bolts 

Of Zeus omnipotent, or other works 



Wrought by my hands at Lemnos or 
Olympus, 

But moulded in soft clay, that unre- 
sisting 

Yields itself to the touch, this lovely 
form 

Before me stands, perfect in every 
part. 

Not Aphrodite's self appeared more 
fair, 

When first upwafted by caressing 
winds 



THE MASQUE 


OF PANDORA 383 


She came to high Olympus, and the 


Bends to and fro, she bows or lifts her 


gods 10 


head. 


Paid homage to her beauty. Thus 


She gazes round about as if amazed ; 


her hair 


She is alive ; she breathes, but yet she 


"Was cinctured ; thus her floating dra- 


speaks not ! 


pery 
Was like a cloud about her, and her 


Pandora descends from the pedestal. 


face 


CHORUS OF THE GRACES 


Was radiant with the sunshine and the 




sea. 


AGLAIA. 




In the workshop of Hephaestus 


THE VOICE OF ZEUS. 


What is this I see ? 


Is thy work done, Hephaestus ? 


Have the Gods to four increased us 




Who were only three ? 


HEPHAESTUS. 


Beautiful in form and feature, 40 


It is finished ! 


Lovely as the day, 




Can there be so fair a creature 


THE VOICE. 


Formed of common clay ? 


Not finished till I breathe the breath of 




life 


THALIA. 


Into her nostrils, and she moves and 


sweet, pale face! lovely eyes of 


speaks. 


azure, 




Clear as the waters of a brook that 


HEPHAESTUS. 


run 


Will she become immortal like our- 


Limpid and laughing in the summer 


selves? 


sun! 




golden hair, that like a miser's 


THE VOICE. 


treasure 


The form that thou hast fashioned out 


In its abundance overflows the mea- 


of clay 


sure ! 


Is of the earth and mortal; but the 


graceful form, that cloudlike float- 


spirit, 20 


est on 


The life, the exhalation of my breath, 


With the soft, undulating gait of one 


Is of diviner essence and immortal. 


Who moveth as if motion were a 


The gods shall shower on her their 


pleasure ! 51 


benefactions, 


By what name shall I call thee ? 


She shall possess all gifts : the gift of 


Nymph or Muse, 


song, 


Callirrhoe" or Urania? Some sweet 


The gift of eloquence, the gift of 


name 


beauty, 


Whose every syllable is a caress 


The fascination and the nameless 


Would best befit thee; but I cannot 


charm 


choose, 


That shall lead all men captive. 


Nor do I care to choose ; for still the 


HEPHAESTUS. 


same, 
Nameless or named, will be thy 


Wherefore? wherefore? 


loveliness. 


A wind shakes the house. 


EUPHROSYNE. 


I hear the rushing of a mighty wind 


Dowered with all celestial gifts, 


Through all the halls and chambers of 


Skilled in every art 


my house ! 


That ennobles and uplifts 60 


Her parted lips inhale it, and her 


And delights the heart, 


bosom 30 


Fair on earth shall be thy fame 


Heaves with the inspiration. As a 


As thy face is fair, 


reed 


And Pandora be the name 


Beside a river in the rippling current 


Thou henceforth shalt bear. 



3*4 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



II 

OLYMPUS 
hermes (putting on his sandals). 

Much must he toil who serves the Im- 
mortal Gods, 

And I, who am their herald, most of all. 

No rest have I, nor respite. I no 
sooner 

Unclasp the winged sandals from my 
feet, 

Than I again must clasp them, and 
depart 7 o 

Upon some foolish errand . But to-day 

The errand is not foolish. Never yet 

With greater joy did I obey the sum- 
mons 

That sends me earthward. I will fly 
so swiftly 

That my caduceus in the whistling air 

Shall make a sound like the Pandsean 
pipes, 

Cheating the shepherds ; for to-day I 
go, 

Commissioned by high - thundering 
Zeus, to lead 

A maiden to Prometheus, in his tower, 

And by my cunning arguments per- 
suade him 80 

To marry her. What mischief lies 
concealed 

In this design I know not ; but I know 

Who thinks of marrying hath already 
taken 

One step upon the road to penitence. 

Such embassies delight me. Forth I 
launch 

On the sustaining air, nor fear to fall 

Like Icarus, nor swerve aside like him 

Who drove amiss Hyperion's fiery 
steeds. 

I sink, I fly ! The yielding element 

Folds itself round about me like an 
arm, 90 

And holds me as a mother holds her 
child. 



Ill 

TOWER OF PROMETHEUS 
MOUNT CAUCASUS 



ON 



PROMETHEUS. 

I hear the trumpet of Alec try on 
Proclaim the dawn. The stars begin 
to fade, 



And all the heavens are full of pro- 
phecies 

And evil auguries. Blood-red last 
night 

I saw great Kronos rise ; the crescent 
moon 

Sank through the mist, as if it were 
the scythe 

His parricidal hand had flung far 
down 

The western steeps. O ye Immortal 
Gods, 

What evil are ye plotting and contriv- 
ing ? 100 

Hermes and Pandora at the threshold. 

PANDORA. 

I cannot cross the threshold. An un- 
seen 

And icy hand repels me. These blank 
walls 

Oppress me with their weight ! 

PROMETHEUS. 

Powerful ye are, 
But not omnipotent. Ye cannot fight 
Against Necessity. The Fates control 

you, 
As they do us, and so far we are 

equals ! 

PANDORA. 

Motionless, passionless, companion- 
less, 

He sits there muttering in his beard. 
His voice 

Is like a river flowing underground ! 

HERMES. 

Prometheus, hail! 

PROMETHEUS. 

Who calls me ? 



HERMES. 



Dost thou not know me ? 



Itisl. 11 



PROMETHEUS. 

By thy winged cap 
And winged heels I know thee. Thou 

art Hermes, 
Captain of thieves ! Hast thou again 

been stealing 
The heifers of Admetus in the sweet 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



38s 



Meadows of asphodel ? or Hera's gir- 
dle? 

Or the earth-shaking trident of Posei- 
don ? 

HERMES. 

And thou, Prometheus ; say, hast thou 
again 

Been stealing fire from Helios' chariot- 
wheels 

To light thy furnaces ? 

PROMETHEUS. 

Why comest thou hither 
So early in the dawn ? 

HERMES. 

The Immortal Gods 120 
Know naught of late or early. Zeus 

himself, 
The omnipotent, hath sent me. 

PROMETHEUS. 

For what purpose ? 



To bring this maiden to thee. 

PROMETHEUS. 

I mistrust 
The Gods and all their gifts. If they 

have sent her 
It is for no good purpose. 

HERMES. 

What disaster 
Could she bring on thy house, who is 
a woman ? 

PROMETHEUS. 

The Gods are not my friends, nor am 

I theirs. 
Whatever comes from them, though in 

a shape 
As beautiful as this, is evil only. 129 
Who art thou ? 

PA*NDORA. 

One, who, though to thee unknown, 
Yet knoweth thee. 




The Tower of Prometheus 



3 86 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



PROMETHEUS. 

How should st thou know me, woman V 

PANDORA. 

Who knoweth not Prometheus the 
humane ? 

PROMETHEUS. 

Prometheus the unfortunate ; to whom 
Both Gods and men have shown them- 
selves ungrateful. 
When every spark was quenched on 

every hearth 
Throughout the earth, I brought to 

man the fire 
And all its ministrations. My reward 
Hath been the rock and vulture. 

HERMES. 

But the Gods 
At last relent and pardon. 

PROMETHEUS. 

They relent not ; 
They pardon not; they are implaca- 
ble, 140 
Revengeful, unforgiving ! 

HERMES. 

As a pledge 
Of reconciliation they have sent to 

thee 
This divine being, to be thy compan- 
ion, 
And bring into thy melancholy house 
The sunshine and the fragrance of her 
youth. 

PROMETHEUS. 

I need them not. I have within my- 
self 

All that my heart desires; the ideal 
beauty 

Which the creative faculty of mind 

Fashions and follows in a thousand 
shapes 

More lovely than the real. My own 
thoughts 150 

Are my companions ; my designs and 
labors 

And aspirations are my only friends. 

HERMES. 

Decide not rashly. The decision 
made 

Can never be recalled. The Gods im- 
plore not, 



Plead not, solicit not ; they only offer 
Choice and occasion, which once being 

passed 
Return no more. Dost thou accept 

the gift ? 

PROMETHEUS. 

No gift of theirs, in whatsoever shape 
It comes to me, with whatsoever 
charm 159 

To fascinate my sense, will I receive. 
Leave me. 

PANDORA. 

Let us go hence. I will not stay. 

HERMES. 

We leave thee to thy vacant dreams, 

and all 
The silence and the solitude of 

thought, 
The endless bitterness of unbelief, 
The loneliness of existence without 

love. 

CHORUS OF THE FATES 
CLOTHO. 

How the Titan, the defiant, 
The self-centred, self-reliant, 
Wrapped in visions and illusions, 
Robs himself of life's best gifts ! 
Till by all the storm-winds shaken, 
By the blast of fate o'ertaken, 171 
Hopeless, helpless, and forsaken, 
In the mists of his confusions 
To the reefs of doom he drifts ! 

LACHESIS. 

Sorely tried and sorely tempted, 
From no agonies exempted, 
In the penance of his trial, 
And the discipline of pain ; 
Often by illusions cheated, 
Often baffled and defeated 180 

In the tasks to be completed, 
He, by toil and self-denial, 
To the highest shall attain. 

ATROPOS. 

Tempt no more the noble schemer ; 
Bear unto some idle dreamer 
This new toy and fascination, 
This new dalliance and delight ! 
To the garden where reposes 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



387 



Epimetlieus crowned with roses, 
To the door that never closes 190 
Upon pleasure and temptation, 
Bring this vision of the night ! 

IV 
THE AIR 

hermes {returning to Olympus). 

As lonely as the tower that he inhabits, 

As firm and cold as are the crags about 
him, 

Prometheus stands. The thunderbolts 
of Zeus 

Alone can move him ; but the tender 
heart 

Of Epimetheus, burning at white 
heat, 

Hammers and flames like all his bro- 
ther's forges ! 

Now as an arrow from Hyperion's 
bow, 

My errand done, I fly, I float, I soar 200 

Into the air, returning to Olympus. 

joy of motion! O delight to cleave 
The infinite realms of space, the 

liquid ether, 
Through the warm sunshine and the 

cooling cloud, 
Myself as light as sunbeam or as 

cloud ! 
With one touch of my swift and 

winged feet, 

1 spurn the solid earth, and leave it 

rocking 
As rocks the bough from which a bird 
takes wing. 



THE HOUSE OF EPIMETHEUS 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Beautiful apparition ! go not hence ! 
Surely thou art a Goddess, for thy 
voice 210 

Is a celestial melody, and thy form 
Self -poised as if it floated on the air ! 

PANDORA. 

No Goddess am I, nor of heavenly 

birth, 
But a mere woman fashioned out of 

clay 
And mortal as the rest. 



EPIMETHEUS. 

Thy face is fair ; 

There is a wonder in thine azure 
eyes 

That fascinates me. Thy whole pre- 
sence seems 

A soft desire, a breathing thought of 
love. 

Say, would thy star like Merope's 
grow dim 

If thou shouldst wed beneath thee? 

PANDORA. 

Ask me not ; 220 
I cannot answer thee. I only know 
The Gods have sent me hither. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

I believe, 

And thus believing am most fortu- 
nate. 

It was not Hermes led thee here, but 
Eros, 

And swifter than his arrows were 
thine eyes 

In wounding me. There was no mo- 
ment's space 

Between my seeing thee and loving 
thee. 

Oh, what a telltale face thou hast! 
Again 

I see the wonder in thy tender eyes, 

PANDORA. 

They do but answer to the love in 
•thine, 230 

Yet secretly I wonder thou shouldst 
love me. 

Thou knowest me not. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Perhaps I know thee better 
Than had I known thee longer. Yet 

it seems 
That I have always known thee, and 

but now 
Have found thee. Ah, I have been 

waiting long. 

PANDORA. 

How beautiful is this house ! The at- 
mosphere 

Breathes rest and comfort, and the 
many chambers 

Seem full of welcomes. 



388 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



EPIMETHEUS. 

They not only seem, 
But truly are. This dwelling and its 

master 
Belong to thee. 

PANDORA. 

Here let me stay forever ! 240 
There is a spell upon me. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Thou thyself 
Art the enchantress, and I feel thy 

power 
Envelop me, and wrap my soul and 

sense 
In an Elysian dream. 

PANDORA. 

Oh, let me stay. 
How beautiful are all things round 

about me, 
Multiplied by the mirrors on the walls ! 
What treasures hast thou here ! Yon 

oaken chest, 
Carven with figures and embossed 

with gold, 
Is wonderful to look upon ! What 

choice 
And precious things dost thou keep 

hidden in it? 250 

EPIMETHEUS. 

I know not. 'T is a mystery. 

PANDORA. 

Hast thou never 
Lifted the lid? 

EPIMETHEUS. 

The oracle forbids. 

Safely concealed there from all mortal 
eyes 

Forever sleeps the secret of the Gods. 

Seek not to know what they have hid- 
den from thee, 

Till they themselves reveal it. 

PANDORA. 

As thou wilt. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Let us go forth from this mysterious 

place. 
The garden walks are pleasant at this 

hour ; 
The nightingales among the sheltering 

boughs 
Of populous and many-nested trees 260 



Shall teach me how to woo thee, and 
shall tell me 

By what resistless charms or incanta- 
tions 

They won their mates. 

PANDORA. 

Thou dost not need a teacher. 
They go out. 

CHORUS OF THE EUMENIDES. 

What the Immortals 
Confide to thy keeping, 
Tell unto no man ; 
Waking or sleeping, 
Closed be thy portals 
To friend as to foeman. 

Silence conceals it ; 270 

The word that is spoken 
Betrays and reveals it ; 
By breath or by token 
The charm may be broken. 

With shafts of their splendors 
The Gods unforgiving 
Pursue the offenders, 
The dead and the living! 
Fortune forsakes them, 
Nor earth shall abide them, 280 
Nor Tartarus hide them ; 
Swift wrath overtakes them. 

With useless endeavor, 

Forever, forever, 

Is Sisyphus rolling 

His stone up the mountain ! 

Immersed in the fountain, 

Tantalus tastes not 

The water that wastes not ! 

Through ages increasing 290 

The pangs that afflict him, 

With motion unceasing 

The wheel of Ixion 

Shall torture its victim ! 



VI 

IN THE GARDEN 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Yon snow-white cloud that sails sub- 
lime in ether 

Is but the sovereign Zeus, who like a 
swan 

Flies to fair-ankled Leda ! 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



389 



•4% 




Nor thou as Pan be rude and mannerless " 



PANDORA. 

Or perchance 
Ixion's cloud, the shadowy shape of 

Hera, 
That bore the Centaurs. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

The divine and human. 

CHORUS OF BIRDS. 

Gently swaying to and fro, 300 

Rocked by all the winds that blow, 
Bright with sunshine from above, 
Dark with shadow from below, 
Beak to beak and breast to breast 
In the cradle of their nest, 
Lie the fledglings of our love. 



ECHO. 

Love! love! 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Hark ! listen ! Hear how sweetly over- 
head 

The feathered flute-players pipe their 
songs of love, 

And Echo answers, love and only love. 



CHORUS OP BIRDS. 

Every flutter of the wing, 
Every note of song we sing, 
Every murmur, every tone, 
Is of love and love alone. 



310 



ECHO. 



Love alone ! 



39° 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



EPIMETHEUS. 

Who would not love, if loving she 
might be 

Changed like Callisto to a star in hea- 
ven? 

PANDORA. 

Ah, who would love, if loving she 

might be 
Like Semele consumed and burnt to 

ashes ? 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Whence knowest thou these stories ? 

PANDORA. 

Hermes taught me ; 
He told me all the history of the Gods. 

CHORUS OP REEDS. 

Evermore a sound shall be 320 

In the reeds of Arcady, 
Evermore a low lament 
Of unrest and discontent, 
As the story is retold 
Of the nymph so coy and cold, 
Who with frightened feet outran 
The pursuing steps of Pan. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

The pipe of Pan out of these reeds is 

made, 
And when he plays upon it to the 

shepherds 
They pity him, so mournful is the 

sound. 330 

Be thou not coy and cold as Syrinx 

was. 

PANDORA. 

Nor thou as Pan be rude and manner- 
less. 

PROMETHEUS (without). 

Ho! Epimetheus! 

EPIMETHEUS. 

'T is my brother's voice ; 
A sound unwelcome and inopportune 
As was the braying of Silenus' ass 
Once heard in Cybele's garden. 

PANDORA. 

Let me go. 
I would not be found here. I would 
not see him. 
She escapes among the trees. 



CHORUS OP DRYADES. 

Haste and hide thee, 

Ere too late, 

In these thickets intricate ; 340 

Lest Prometheus 

See and chide thee, 

Lest some hurt 

Or harm betide thee, 

Haste and hide thee ! 

Prometheus {entering). 
Who was it fled from here ? I saw a 

shape 
Flitting among the trees. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

It was Pandora. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Epimetheus ! Is it then in vain 
That I have warned thee ? Let me 

now implore. 
Thou harborest in thy house a danger- 
ous guest. 350 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Whom the Gods love they honor with 
such guests. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Whom the Gods would destroy they 
first make mad. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Shall I refuse the gifts they send to 
me? 

PROMETHEUS. 

Reject all gifts that come from higher 
powers. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Such gifts as this are not to be re- 
jected. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Make not thyself the slave of any wo- 
man. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Make not thyself the judge of any 
man. 

PROMETHEUS. 

1 judge thee not ; for thou art more 

than man ; 
Thou art descended from Titanic race, 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



39 



And hast a Titan's strength and facul- 
ties 360 

That make thee godlike ; and thou 
sittest here 

Like Heracles spinning Omphale's 
flax, 

And beaten with her sandals. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

O my brother ! 
Thou drivest me to madness with thy 
taunts. 

PROMETHEUS. 

And me thou drivest to madness with 
thy follies. 

Come with me to my tower on Cau- 
casus : 

See there my forges in the roaring 
caverns, 

Beneficent to man, and taste the joy 

That springs from labor. Read with 
me the stars, 

And learn the virtues that lie hidden 
in plants, 370 

And all things that are useful. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

O my brother! 

I am not as thou art. Thou dost in- 
herit 

Our father's strength, and I our mo- 
ther's weakness : 

The softness of the Oceanides, 

The yielding nature that cannot re- 
sist. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Because thou wilt not. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Nay ; because I cannot. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Assert thyself ; rise up to thy full 
height ; 

Shake from thy soul these dreams ef- 
feminate, 

These passions born of indolence and 
ease. 

Resolve, and thou art free. But 
breathe the air 380 

Of mountains, and their unapproach- 
able summits 

Will lift thee to the level of them- 
selves.' 



EPIMETHEUS. 

The roar of forests and of waterfalls, 
The rushing of a mighty wind, with 

loud 
And undistinguishable voices calling, 
Are in my ear! 

PROMETHEUS. 

Oh, listen and obey. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Thou leadest me as a child. I follow 
thee. 

They go out. 

CHORUS OP OREADES. 

Centuries old are the mountains ; 

Their foreheads wrinkled and rifted 

Helios crowns by day, 390 

Pallid Selene by night ; 

From their bosoms uptossed 

The snows are driven and drifted, 

Like Tithonus' beard 

Streaming dishevelled and white. 

Thunder and tempest of wind 
Their trumpets blow in the vastness ; 
Phantoms of mist and rain, 
Cloud and the shadow of cloud, 
Pass and repass by the gates 400 
Of their inaccessible fastness ; 
Ever unmoved they stand, 
Solemn, eternal, and proud. 

VOICES OF THE WATERS. 

Flooded by rain and snow 
In their inexhaustible sources, 
Swollen by affluent streams 
Hurrying onward and hurled 
Headlong over the crags, 
The impetuous water-courses 
Rush and roar and plunge 410 

Down to the nethermost world. 

Say, have the solid rocks 
Into streams of silver been melted, 
Flowing over the plains, 
Spreading to lakes in the fields? 
Or have the mountains, the giants, 
The ice-helmed, the forest-belted, 
Scattered their arms abroad ; 
Flung in the meadows their shields ? 

VOICES OP THE WINDS- 

High on their turreted cliffs 420 

That bolts of thunder have shattered, 



392 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



Storm- winds muster and blow 
Trumpets of terrible breath ; 
Then from the gateways rush, 
And before them routed and scattered 
Sullen the cloud-rack flies, 
Pale with the pallor of death. 

Onward the hurricane rides, 
And flee for shelter the shepherds ; 
White are the frightened leaves, 430 
Harvests with terror are white ; 
Panic seizes the herds, 
And even the lions and leopards, 
Prowling no longer for prey, 
Crouch in their caverns with fright. 

VOICES OF THE FORESTS. 

Guarding the mountains around 
Majestic the forests are standing, 
Bright are their crested helms, 
Dark is their armor of leaves ; 
Filled with the breath of freedom 44 o 
Each bosom subsiding, expanding, 
Now like the ocean sinks, 
Now like the ocean upheaves. 

Planted firm on the rock, 
With foreheads stern and defiant, 
Loud they shout to the winds, 
Loud to the tempest they call ; 
Naught but Olympian thunders, 
That blasted Titan and Giant, 
Them can uproot and o'erthrow, 450 
Shaking the earth with their fall. 

CHORUS OF OREADES. 

These are the Voices Three 
Of winds and forests and foun- 
tains, 
Voices of earth and of air, 
Murmur and rushing of streams, 
Making together one sound, 
The mysterious voice of the moun- 
tains, 
Waking the sluggard that sleeps, 
Waking the dreamer of dreams. 

These are the Voices Three, 460 

That speak of endless endeavor, 
Speak of endurance and strength, 
Triumph and fulness of fame, 
Sounding about the world, 
An inspiration forever, 
Stirring the hearts of men, 
Shaping their end and their aim. 



VII 
THE HOUSE OF EPIMETHEUS 

PANDORA. 

Left to myself I wander as I will, 
And as my fancy leads me, through 

this house, 
Nor could I ask a dwelling more com- 
plete 470 

Were I indeed the Goddess that he 
deems me. 

No mansion of Olympus, framed to 
be 

The habitation of the Immortal Gods, 

Can be more beautiful. And this is 
mine, 

And more than this, the love where- 
with he crowns me. 

As if impelled by powers invisible 

And irresistible, my steps return 

Unto this spacious hall. All corri- 
dors 

And passages lead hither, and all 
doors 

But open into it. Yon mysterious 
chest 480 

Attracts and fascinates me. Would I 
knew 

What there lies hidden ! But the ora- 
cle 

Forbids. Ah me! The secret then is 
safe. 

So would it be if it were in my keep- 
ing. 

A crowd of shadowy faces from the 
mirrors 

That line these walls are watching me. 
I dare not 

Lift up the lid. A hundred times the 
act 

Would be repeated, and the secret 
seen 

By twice a hundred incorporeal eyes. 

She walks to the other side of the hall. 

My feet are weary, wandering to and 
fro, 490 

My eyes with seeing and my heart 
with waiting. 

I will lie here and rest till he re- 
turns, 

Who is my dawn, my day, my Helios. 

Throws herself upon a couch, and falU 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



393 



ZEPHYRUS. 

Come from thy caverns dark and 

deep, 
O son of Erebus and Night ; 
All sense of hearing and of sight 
Enfold in the serene delight 
And quietude of sleep ! 

Set all thy silent sentinels 499 

To bar and guard the Ivory Gate, 
And keep the evil dreams of fate 
And falsehood and infernal hate 
Imprisoned in their cells. 

But open wide the Gate of Horn, 
Whence, beautiful as planets, rise 
The dreams of truth, with starry 

eyes, 
And all the wondrous prophecies 
And visions of the morn. 

CHORUS OF DREAMS FROM THE IVORY 
GATE. 

Ye sentinels of sleep, 

It is in vain ye keep 510 

Your drowsy watch before the Ivory 
Gate; 

Though closed the portal seems, 

The airy feet of dreams 
Ye cannot thus in walls incarcerate. 

We phantoms are and dreams 

Born by Tartarean streams, 
As ministers of the infernal powers ; 

O son of Erebus 

And Night, behold ! we thus 
Elude your watchful warders on the 
towers ! 520 

From gloomy Tartarus 
The Fates have summoned us 
To whisper in her ear, who lies 
asleep, 
A tale to fan the fire 
Of her insane desire 
To know a secret that the Gods would 
keep. 

This passion, in their ire, 
The Gods themselves inspire, 
To vex mankind with evils mani- 
fold, 
So that disease and pain 530 

O'er the whole earth may reign, 
And nevermore return the Age of 
Gold. 



pandora {waking). 
A voice said in my sleep: "Do not 

delay : 
Do not delay ; the golden moments fly ! 
The oracle hath forbidden; yet not 

thee 
Doth it forbid, but Epimetheus only ! " 
I am alone. These faces in the mirrors 
Are but the shadows and phantoms of 

myself ; 
They cannot help nor hinder. No one 

sees me, 
Save the all-seeing Gods, who, know- 
ing good 540 
And knowing evil, have created me 
Such as I am, and filled me with desire 
Of knowing good and evil like them- 
selves. 

She approaches the chest. 
I hesitate no longer. Weal or woe, 
Or life or death, the moment shall de- 
cide. 
She lifts the lid. A dense mist rises 
from the chest, and fills the room. 
Pandora falls senseless on the floor. 
Storm without. 

CHORUS OF DREAMS FROM THE GATE 
OF HORN. 

Yes, the moment shall decide ! 

It already hath decided ; 

And the secret once confided 

To the keeping of the Titan 

Now is flying far and wide, 550 

Whispered, told on every side, 

To disquiet and to frighten. 

Fever of the heart and brain, 
Sorrow, pestilence, and pain, 
Moans of anguish, maniac laughter. 
All the evils that hereafter 
Shall afflict and vex mankind, 
All into the air have risen 
From the chambers of their prison ; 
Only Hope remains behind. 560 



VIII 
IN THE GARDEN 

EPIMETHEUS. 

The storm is past, but it hath left be- 
hind it 
Ruin and desolation. All the walks 



394 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



Are strewn with shattered boughs ; 
the birds are silent ; 

The flowers, downtrodden by the 
wind, lie dead ; 

The swollen rivulet sobs with secret 
pain : 

The melancholy reeds whisper to- 
gether 

As if some dreadful deed had been 
committed 

They dare not name, and all the air is 
heavy 

With an unspoken sorrow ! Premoni- 
tions, 

Foreshadowings of some terrible disas- 
ter 570 

Oppress my heart. Ye Gods, avert 
the omen ! 



pandora, coming from the house. 
O Epimetheus, I no longer dare 
To lift mine eyes to thine, nor hear 

thy voice, 
Being no longer worthy of thy love. 

EPIMETHEUS 

What hast thou done ? 

PANDORA. 

Forgive me hot, but kill me. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

What hast thou done? 

PANDORA. 

I pray for death, not pardon. 




Only Hope remains behind " 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



395 



EPIMETHEUS. 

What bast thou done? 

PANDORA. 

I dare not speak of it. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Thy pallor and thy silence terrify 
me! 

PANDORA. 

I have brought wrath and ruin on thy 

house ! 
My heart hath braved the oracle that 

guarded 580 

The fatal secret from us, and my 

hand 
Lifted the lid of the mysterious 

chest ! 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Then all is lost! I am indeed un- 
done. 

PANDORA. 

I pray for punishment, and not for 
pardon. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Mine is the fault, not thine. On me 
shall fall 

The vengeance of the Gods, for I be- 
trayed 

Their secret when, in evil hour, I 
said 

It was a secret ; when, in evil 
hour, 

I left thee here alone to this tempta- 
tion. 

Why did I leave thee ? 

PANDORA. 

Why didst thou return? 590 
Eternal absence would have been to 

me 
The greatest punishment. To be left 

alone 
And face to face with my own crime, 

had been 
Just retribution. Upon me, ye 

Gods, 
Let all your vengeance fall ! 

EPIMETHEUS. 

On thee and me. 



I do not love thee less for what is 
done, 

And cannot be undone. Thy very 
weakness 

Hath brought thee nearer to me, and 
henceforth 

My love will have a sense of pity in 
it, 599 

Making it less a worship than be- 
fore. 

PANDORA. 

Pity me not ; pity is degradation. 
Love me and kill me. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Beautiful Pandora ! 
Thou art a Goddess still ! 

PANDORA. 

I am a woman ; 

And the insurgent demon in my na- 
ture, 

That made me brave the oracle, re- 
volts 

At pity and compassion. Let me 
die ; 

What else remains for me ? 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Youth, hope, and love : 
To build a new life on a ruined 

life, 
To make the future fairer than the 

past, 
And make the past appear a troubled 

dream. 610 

Even now in passing through the gar- 
den walks 
Upon the ground I saw a fallen 

nest 
Ruined and full of rain ; and over 

me 
Beheld the uncomplaining birds 

already 
Busy in building a new habitation. 

PANDORA. 

Auspicious omen ! 

EPIMETHEUS 

May the Eumenides 
Put out their torches and behold us 
not, 



396 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



And fling away their whips of scor- 


Unquenched our torches glare, 


pions 


Our scourges in the air 


And touch us not. 


Send forth prophetic sounds before 




they smite. 


PANDORA. 


Never by lapse of time 


Me let them punish. 


The soul defaced by crime 630 


Only through punishment of our evil 


Into its former self returns again ; 


deeds, 620 


For every guilty deed 


Only through suffering, are we recon- 


Holds in itself the seed 


ciled 


Of retribution and undying pain. 


To the immortal Gods and to our- 




selves. 


Never shall be the loss 




Restored, till Helios 


CHORUS OF THE EUMENIDES. 


Hath purified them with his heavenly 
fires; 


Never shall souls like these 


Then what was lost is won, 


Escape the Eumenides, 


And the new life begun, 


The daughters dark of Acheron and 


Kindled with nobler passions and de- 


Night! 


sires. 640 




Never shall souls like these 
Escape the Eumenides " 





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" They want no guests ; they needs must 
Each other's own best company " 



THE HANGING OF THE CRANE 



The lights are out, and gone are all 

the guests 
That thronging came with merriment 

and jests 
To celebrate the Hanging of the 

Crane 
In the new house, — into the night are 

gone; 
But still the fire upon the hearth burns 

on, 
And I alone remain. 

O fortunate, O happy day, 
.When a new household finds its place 
Among the myriad homes of earth, 
Like a new star just sprung to birth, 
And rolled on its harmonious way n 
Into the boundless realms of space I 



So said the guests in speech and 

song, 
As in the chimney, burning bright, 
We hung the iron crane to-night, 
And merry was the feast and long. 



And now I sit and muse on what may 

be, 
And in my vision see, or seem to see, 
Through floating vapors interfused 
with light, 
Shapes indeterminate, that gleam and 
fade, 20 

As shadows passing into deeper shade 
Sink and elude the sight. 

For two alone, there in the hall, 
Is spread the table round and small ; 



39» 



THE HANGING OF THE CRANE 



Upon the polished silver shine 

The evening lamps, but, more divine, 

The light of love shines over all; 

Of love, that says not mine and thine, 

But ours, for ours is thine and mine. 

They want no guests, to come between 
Their tender glances like a screen, 31 
And tell them tales of land and sea, 
And whatsoever may betide 
The great, forgotten world outside ; 
They want no guests ; they needs 

must be 
Each other's own best company. 

in 
The picture fades ; as at a village fair 
A showman's views, dissolving into 
air, 
Again appear transfigured on the 
screen, 
So in my fancy this ; and now once 
more, 40 

In part transfigured, through the open 
door 
Appears the selfsame scene. 

Seated, I see the two again, 
But not alone ; they entertain 
A little angel unaware, 
With face as round as is the moon, 
A royal guest with flaxen hair, 
Who, throned upon his lofty chair, 
Drums on the table with his spoon, 
Then drops it careless on the floor, 50 
To grasp at things unseen before. 

Are these celestial manners ? these 
The ways that win, the arts that 

please ? 
Ah yes ; consider well the guest, 
And whatsoe'er he does seems best ; 
He ruleth by the right divine 
Of helplessness, so lately born 
In purple chambers of the morn, 
As sovereign over thee and thine. 
He speaketh not ; and yet there lies 60 
A conversation in his eyes ; 
The golden silence of the Greek, 
The gravest wisdom of the wise, 
Not spoken in language, but in looks 
More legible than printed books, 
As if he could but would not speak. 
And now, O monarch absolute, 
Thy power is put to proof ; for, lo ! 
Resistless, fathomless, and slow, 69 



The nurse comes rustling like the sea, 
And pushes back thy chair and thee, 
And so good-night to King Canute. 



As one who walking in a forest sees 

A lovely landscape through the parted 
trees, 
Then sees it not, for boughs that 
intervene ; 

Or as we see the moon sometimes re- 
vealed 

Through drifting clouds, and then 
again concealed, 
So I behold the scene. 

There are two guests at table now ; 
The king, deposed and older grown, 80 
No longer occupies the throne, — 
The crown is on his sister's brow ; 
A Princess from the Fairy Isles, 
The very pattern girl of girls, 
All covered and embowered in curls, 
Rose-tinted from the Isle of Flowers, 
And sailing with soft, silken sails 
From far-off Dreamland into ours. 
Above their bowls with rims of blue 
Four azure eyes of deeper hue 90 

Are looking, dreamy with delight ; 
Limpid as planets that emerge 
Above the ocean's rounded verge, 
Soft -shining through the summer 

night. 
Steadfast they gaze, yet nothing see 
Beyond the horizon of their bowls; 
Nor care they for the world that rolls 
With all its freight of troubled souls 
Into the days that are to be. 



Again the tossing boughs shut out the 
scene, 100 

Again the drifting vapors intervene, 
And the moon's pallid disk is hid- 
den quite; 
And now I see the table wider grown, 
As round a pebble into water thrown 
Dilates a ring of light. 

I see the table wider grown, 

I see it garlanded with guests, 

As if fair Ariadne's Crown 

Out of the sky had fallen down ; 109 

Maidens within whose tender breasts 

A thousand restless hopes and fears, 

Forth reaching to the coming years, 



THE HANGING OF THE CRANE 



399 



Flutter awhile, then quiet lie, 
Like timid birds that fain would fly, 
j But do not dare to leave their nests ; — 
And youths, who in their strength 

elate 
Challenge the van and front of fate, 
Eager as champions to be 
In the divine knight-errantry 
Of youth, that travels sea and land 120 
Seeking adventures, or pursues, 
Through cities, and through solitudes 
Frequented by the lyric Muse, 
The phantom with the beckoning 

hand, 
That still allures and still eludes. 
O sweet illusions of the brain ! 
O sudden thrills of fire and frost ! 
The world is bright while ye remain, 
And dark and dead when ye are lost ! 



The meadow-brook, that seemeth to 
stand still, 130 

Quickens its current as it nears the 
mill; 
And so the stream of Time that 
lingereth 
In level places, and so dull appears, 
Runs with a swifter current as it nears 
The gloomy mills of Death. 

And now, like the magician's scroll, 

That in the owner's keeping shrinks 

With every wish he speaks or thinks, 

Till the last wish consumes the whole, 

The table dwindles, and again 140 

I see the two alone remain. 

The crown of stars is broken in parts ; 

Its jewels, brighter than the day, 

Have one by one been stolen away 

To shine in other homes and hearts. 

One is a wanderer now afar 

In Ceylon or in Zanzibar, 

Or sunny regions of Cathay ; 

And one is in the boisterous camp 149 

Mid clink of arms and horses' tramp, 

And battle's terrible array. 

I see the patient mother read, 

With aching heart, of wrecks that 

float 
Disabled on those seas remote, 
Or of some great heroic deed 
On battle-fields, where thousands bleed 
To lift one hero into fame. 



Anxious she bends her graceful head 
Above these chronicles of pain, 
And trembles with a secret dread 160 
Lest there among the drowned or 

slain 
She find the one beloved name. 



After a day of cloud and wind and 

rain 
Sometimes the setting sun breaks out 

again, 
And, touching all the darksome 

woods with light, 
Smiles on the fields, until they laugh 

and sing, 
Then like a ruby from the horizon's 

ring- 
Drops down into the night. 

What see I now ? The night is fair, 
The storm of grief, the clouds of 

care, 170 

The wind, the rain, have passed away ; 
The lamps are lit, the fires burn bright, 
The house is full of life and light ; 
It is the Golden Wedding day. 
The guests come thronging in once 

more, 
Quick footsteps sound along the floor, 
The trooping children crowd the stair, 
And in and out and everywhere 
Flashes along the corridor 
The sunshine of their golden hair. 180 
On the round table in the hall 
Another Ariadne's Crown 
Out of the sky hath fallen down ; 
More than one Monarch of the Moon 
Is drumming with his silver spoon ; 
The light of love shines over all. 

O fortunate, O happy day ! 
The people sing, the people say. 
The ancient bridegroom and the bride, 
Smiling contented and serene 190 

Upon the blithe, bewildering scene, 
Behold, well pleased, on every side 
Their forms and features multiplied, 
As the reflection of a light 
Between two burnished mirrors 

gleams, 
Or lamps upon a bridge at night 
Stretch on and on before the sight, 
Till the long vista endless seems. 




" ye familiar scenes, — ye groves of pine " 



MORITURI SALUTAMUS 



POEM FOR THE FIFTIETH AN- 
NIVERSARY OF THE CLASS OF 
1825 IN BOWDOIN COLLEGE 

Tempora labuntur, tacitisque senescimus annis, 
Et f ugiunt freno non remorante dies. 

Ovid, Fastorum, Lib. vi. 

' ' O Cmsab,, we who are about to 

die 
Salute you ! " was the gladiators' cry 
In the arena, standing face to face 
With death and with the Roman pop- 
ulace. 

O ye familiar scenes, — ye groves of 

pine, 
That once were mine and are no longer 

mine, — 



Thou river, widening through the 

meadows green . 
To the vast sea, so near and yet un 

seen, — 
Ye halls, in whose seclusion and repose 
Phantoms of fame, like exhalations, 

rose 10 

And vanished, — we who are about to 

die, 
Salute you ; earth and air and sea and 

sky, 
And the Imperial Sun that scatters 

down 
His sovereign splendors upon grove 

and town. 

Ye do not answer us ! ye do not hear ! 
We are forgotten ; and in your austere 



MORITURI SALUTAMUS 



401 



And calm indifference, ye little care 
Whether we come or go, or whence or 

where. 
What passing generations fill these 

halls, 
What passing voices echo from these 

walls, 20 

Ye heed not ; we are only as the blast, 
A moment heard, and then forever 

past. 

Not so the teachers who in earlier days 

Led our bewildered feet through learn- 
ing's maze ; 

They answer us — alas! what have I 
said? 

What greetings come there from the 
voiceless dead ? 

What salutation, welcome, or reply ? 

What pressure from the hands that g 
lifeless lie ? 

They are no longer here ; they all are 
gone 

Into the land of shadows, — all save 
one. 30 

Honor and reverence, and the good re- 
pute 

That follows faithful service as its 
fruit, 

Be unto him, whom living we salute. 

The great Italian poet, when he made 
His dreadful journey to the realms of 

shade, 
Met there the old instructor of his 

youth, 
And cried in tones of pity and of ruth : 
" Oh, never from the memory of my 

heart 
Your dear, paternal image shall depart, 
Who while on earth, ere yet by death 

surprised, 40 

Taught me how mortals are immortal- 
ized ; 
How grateful am I for that patient 

care 
All my life long my language shall 

declare." 

To-day we make the poet's words our 

own, 
And utter them in plaintive under- 
tone ; 
Nor to the living only be they said, 
But to the other living called the dead, 
Whose dear, paternal images appear 



Not wrapped in gloom, but robed in 

sunshine here ; 
Whose simple lives, complete and 

without flaw, 50 

Were part and parcel of great Nature's 

law ; 
Who said not to their Lord, as if 

afraid, 
" Here is thy talent in a napkin laid," 
But labored in their sphere, as men 

who live 
In the delight that work alone can 

give. 
Peace be to them ; eternal peace and 

rest, 
And the fulfilment of the great behest : 
" Ye have been faithful over a few 

things, 
Over ten cities shall ye reign as kings." 

And ye who fill the places we once 

filled, 60 

And follow in the furrows that we 

tilled, 
Young men, whose generous hearts 

are beating high, 
We who are old, and are about to die, 
Salute you ■ hail you ; take your hands 

in ours, 
And crown you with our welcome as 

with flowers ! 

How beautiful is youth! how bright 
it gleams 

With its illusions, aspirations, dreams ! 

Book of Beginnings, Story without 
End, 

Each maid a heroine, and each man a 
friend ! 

Aladdin's Lamp, and Fortunatus 
Purse, 7< 

That holds the treasures of the uni- 
verse ! 

All possibilities are in its hands, 

No danger daunts it, and no foe with- 
stands ; 

In its sublime audacity of faith, 

"Be thou removed!" it to the moun- 
tain saith, 

And with ambitious feet, secure and 
proud, 

Ascends the ladder leaning on the 
cloud! 

As ancient Priam at the Scaean gate 
Sat on the walls of Troy in regal state 



402 



MORITURI SALUTAMUS 



With the old men, too old and weak 
to fight, 80 

Chirping like grasshoppers in their de- 
light 

To see the embattled hosts, with spear 
and shield, 

Of Trojans and Achaiaus in the field ; 

So from the snowy summits of our 
years 

We see you in the plain, as each ap- 
pears, 

And question of you; asking, "Who 
is he 

That towers above the others? Which 
may be 

Atreides, Menelaus, Odysseus, 

Ajax the great, or bold Idomeneus ? " 

Let him not boast who puts his armor 
on 90 

As he who puts it off, the battle done. 

Study yourselves ; and most of all note 
well 

Wherein kind Nature meant you to 
excel. 

Not every blossom ripens into fruit ; 

Minerva, the inventress of the flute, 

Flung it aside, when she her face sur- 
veyed 

Distorted in a fountain as she played ; 

The unlucky Marsyas found it, and 
his fate 

Was one to make the bravest hesitate. 

Write on your doors the saying wise 
and old, 100 

"Be bold! be bold!" and every- 
where, "Be bold ; 

Be not too bold ! " Yet better the ex- 
cess 

Than the defect ; better the more than 
less; 

Better like Hector in the field to die, 

Than like a perfumed Paris turn and 

fly- 

And now, my classmates ; ye remain- 
ing few 
That number not the half of those we 

knew, 
Ye, against whose familiar names not 

yet 
The fatal asterisk of death is set, 
Ye I salute! The horologe of Time no 
Strikes the half-century with a solemn 
chime, 



And summons us together once again, 
The joy of meeting not unmixed with 
pain. 

Where are the others? Voices from 
the deep 

Caverns of darkness answer me : 
" They sleep!" 

I name no names ; instinctively I feel 

Each at 'some well-remembered grave 
will kneel, 

And from the inscription wipe the 
weeds and moss, 

For every heart best knoweth its own 
loss. 

I see their scattered gravestones gleam- 
ing white 120 

Through the pale dusk of the impend- 
ing night ; 

O'er all alike the impartial sunset 
throws 

Its golden lilies mingled with the rose ; 

We give to each a tender thought, 
and pass 

Out of the graveyards with their tan- 
gled grass, 

Unto these scenes frequented by our 
feet 

When we were young, and life was 
fresh and sweet. 

What shall I say to you? What can I 
say 

Better than silence is ? When I survey 

This throng of faces turned to meet 
my own, 130 

Friendly and fair, and yet to me un- 
known, 

Transformed the very landscape seems 
to be ; 

It is the same, yet not the same to 
me. 

So many memories crowd upon my 
brain, 

So many ghosts are in the wooded 
plain. 

I fain would steal away, with noise- 
less tread, 

As from a house where some one lieth 
dead. 

I cannot go ; — I pause ; — I hesitate ; 

My feet reluctant linger at the gate ; 

As one who struggles in a troubled 
dream 140 

To speak and cannot, to myself I 
seem. 



MORITURI SALUTAMUS 



403 



Vanish the dream! Vanish the idle 
fears ! 

Vanish the rolling mists of fifty years ! 

Whatever time or space may inter- 
vene, 

I will not be a stranger in this scene. 

Here every doubt, all indecision, 
ends; 

Hail, my companions, comrades, class- 
mates, friends ! 

Ah me ! the fifty years since last we 

met 
Seem to me fifty folios bound and set 
By Time, the great transcriber, on his 

shelves, 150 

Wherein are written the histories of 

ourselves. 
What tragedies, what comedies, are 

there ; 
What joy and grief, what rapture and 

despair ! 



What chronicles of triumph and defeat, 

Of struggle, and temptation, and re- 
treat ! 

What records of regrets, and doubts, 
and fears ! 

What pages blotted, blistered by our 
tears ! 

What lovely landscapes on the margin 
shine, 

What sweet, angelic faces, what di- 
vine 

And holy images of love and trust, 160 

Undimmed by age, unsoiled by damp 
or dust ! 

Whose hand shall dare to open and 

explore 
These volumes, closed and clasped 

f orevermore ? 
Not mine. With reverential feet I 



pass; 
I hear a voice that cries. 



Alas ! alas ! 




Bowdoin College, Brunswick, Maine. 



4°4 



MORITURI SALUTAMUS 



Whatever hath been written shall re- 
main, 

Nor be erased nor written o'er again ; 

The unwritten only still belongs to 
thee: 

Take heed, and ponder well what that 
shall be." 

As children frightened by a thunder- 
cloud i 7 o 

Are reassured if some one reads aloud 

A tale of wonder, with enchantment 
fraught, 

Or wild adventure, that diverts their 
thought, 

Let me endeavor with a tale to chase 

The gathering shadows of the time 
and place, 

And banish what we all too deeply 
feel 

Wholly to say, or wholly to conceal. 

In mediaeval Rome, I know not 
where, 

There stood an image with its arm in 
air, 

And on its lifted finger, shining clear, 

A golden ring with the device, 
"Strike here!" 181 

Greatly the people wondered, though 
none guessed 

The meaning that these words but 
half expressed, 

Until a learned clerk, who at noonday 

With downcast eyes was passing on 
his way, 

Paused, and observed the spot, and 
marked it well, 

Whereon the shadow of the finger fell ; 

And, coming back at midnight, delved, 
and found 

A secret stairway leading under- 
ground. 

Down this he passed into a spacious 
hall, 190 

Lit by a flaming jewel on the wall ; 

And opposite, in threatening attitude, 

With bow and shaft a brazen statue 
stood. 

Upon its forehead, like a coronet, 

Were these mysterious words of men- 
ace set : 

' ' That which I am, I am ; my fatal 
aim 

None can escape, not even yon lumi- 
nous flame 1 " 



Midway the hall was a fair table 
placed, 

With cloth of gold, and golden cups 
enchased 

With rubies, and the plates and knives 
were gold, 200 

And gold the bread and viands mani- 
fold. 

Around it, silent, motionless, and sad, 

Were seated gallant knights in armor 
clad, 

And ladies beautiful with plume and 
zone, 

But they were stone, their hearts with- 
in were stone ; 

And the vast hall was filled in every 
part 

With silent crowds, stony in face and 
heart. 

Long at the scene, bewildered and 
amazed, 

The trembling clerk in speechless won- 
der gazed ; 

Then from the table, by his greed 
made bold, 210 

He seized a goblet and a knife of 
gold, 

And suddenly from their seats the 
guests upsprang, 

The vaulted ceiling with loud clamors 
rang, 

The archer sped his arrow at their call, 

Shattering the lambent jewel on the 
wall, 

And all was dark around and over- 
head ; — 

Stark on the floor the luckless clerk 
lay dead ! 

The writer of this legend then records 

Its ghostly application in these words : 

The image is the Adversary old, 220 

Whose beckoning finger points to 
realms of gold ; 

Our lusts and passions are the down- 
ward stair 

That leads the soul from a diviner air ; 

The archer, Death ; the flaming jewel, 
Life ; 

Terrestrial goods, the goblet and the 
knife ; 

The knights and ladies, all whose 
flesh and bone 

By avarice have been hardened into 
stone ; 



MORITURI SALUTAMUS 



405 



The clerk, the scholar whom the love 

of pelf 
Tempts from his books and from his 

nobler self. 

The scholar and the world ! The end- 
less strife, 230 

The discord in the harmonies of life ! 

The love of learning, the sequestered 
nooks, 

And all the sweet serenity of books ; 

The market-place, the eager love of 
gain, 

Whose aim is vanity, and whose end is 
pain ! 

But why, you ask me, should this tale 
be told 

To men grown old, or who are grow- 
ing old? 

It is too late ! Ah, nothing is too late 

Till the tired heart shall cease to pal- 
pitate. 

Cato learned Greek at eighty ; Sopho- 
cles 240 

Wrote his grand (Edipus, and Simon- 
ides 

Bore off the prize of verse from his 
compeers, 

When each had numbered more than 
fourscore years, 

And Theophrastus, at fourscore and 
ten, 

Had but begun his "Characters of 
Men." 

Chaucer, at Woodstock with the night- 
ingales, 

At sixty wrote the Canterbury Tales ; 

Goethe at Weimar, toiling to the last, 

Completed Faust when eighty years 
were past. 

These are indeed exceptions ; but they 
show 250 

How far the gulf- stream of our youth 
may flow 

Into the arctic regions of our lives, 

Where little else than life itself sur- 
vives. 

As the barometer foretells the storm 
While still the skies are clear, the 
weather warm, 



So something in us, as old age draws 

near, 
Betrays the pressure of the atmos- 
phere. 
The nimble mercury, ere we are aware, 
Descends the elastic ladder of the 

air; 
The telltale blood in artery and vein 
Sinks from its higher levels in the 

brain ; 261 

Whatever poet, orator, or sage 
May say of it, old age is still old age. 
It is the waning, not the crescent 

moon ; 
The dusk of evening, not the blaze of 

noon ; 
It is not strength, but weakness ; not 

desire, 
But its surcease ; not the fierce heat of 

fire, 
The burning and consuming element, 
But that of ashes and of embers 

spent, 
In which some living sparks we still 

discern, 270 

Enough to warm, but not enough to 

burn. 

What then ? Shall we sit idly down 

and say 
The night hath come ; it is no longer 

day? 
The night hath not yet come ; we are 

not quite 
Cut off from labor by the failing light ; 
Something remains for us to do or 

dare ; 
Even the oldest tree some fruit may 

bear ; 
Not (Edipus Coloneus, or Greek Ode, 
Or tales of pilgrims that one morning 

rode 279 

Out of the gateway of the Tabard 

Inn, 
But other something, would we but 

begin ; 
For age is opportunity no less 
Than youth itself, though in another 

dress, 
And as the evening twilight fades away 
The sky is filled with stars, invisible 

by day. 




River, that stealest with such silent pace 
Around the City of the Dead " 



A BOOK OF SONNETS 



THREE FRIENDS OF MINE 



When I remember them, those friends 
of mine, 

Who are no longer here, the noble 
three, 

Who half my life were more than 
friends to me, 

And whose discourse was like a gen- 
erous wine, 
I most of all remember the divine 
^ Something, that shone in them, and 
made us see 

The archetypal man, and what 
might be 

The amplitude of Nature's first de- 
sign. 
In vain I stretch my hands to clasp 
their hands ; 

I cannot find them. Nothing now 
is left 

But a majestic memory. They 
meanwhile 
Wander together in Elysian lands, 

Perchance remembering me, who am 
bereft 

Of their dear presence, and, remem- 
bering, smile. 



In Attica thy birthplace should have 

been, 
Or the Ionian Isles, or where the 

seas 
Encircle in their arms the Cy- 

clades, 
So wholly Greek wast thou in thy 

serene 
And childlike joy of life, O Philhel- 

lene! 
Around thee would have swarmed 

the Attic bees ; 
Homer had been thy friend, or So- 
crates, 
And Plato welcomed thee to his de- 
mesne. 
For thee old legends breathed historic 

breath ; 
Thou sawest Poseidon in the purple 

sea, 
And in the sunset Jason's fleece of 

gold ! 
Oh, what hadst thou to do with cruel 

Death, 
Who wast so full of life, or Death 

with thee, 
That thou shouldst die before thou 

hadst grown old ! 



CHAUCER 



407 



III 


V 


I stand again on the familiar shore, 


The doors are all wide open ; at the 


And hear the waves of the distracted 


gate 


sea 


The blossomed lilacs counterfeit a 


Piteously calling and lamenting 


blaze, 


thee, 


And seem to warm the air ; a dreamy 


And waiting restless at thy cottage 


haze 


door. 


Hangs o'er the Brighton meadows 


The rocks, the sea-weed on the ocean 


like a fate, 


floor, 


And on their margin, with sea-tides 


The willows in the meadow, and 


elate, 


the free 


The flooded Charles, as in the hap- 


Wild winds of the Atlantic welcome 


pier days, 


me ; 


Writes the last letter of his name, 


Then why shouldst thou be dead, 


and stays 


and come no more ? 


His restless steps, as if compelled to 


Ah, why shouldst thou be dead, when 


wait. 


common men- 


I also wait ; but they will come no 


Are busy with their trivial affairs, 


more, 


Having and holding ? Why, when 


Those friends of mine, whose pre- 


thou hadst read 


sence satisfied 


Nature's mysterious manuscript, and 


The thirst and hunger of my heart. 


then 


Ah me! 


Wast ready to reveal the truth it 


They have forgotten the pathway to 


bears, 


my door ! 


Why art thou silent ? Why shouldst 


Something is gone from nature since 


thou be dead ? 


they died, 


IV 


And summer is not summer, nor can 
be. 


River, that stealest with such silent 


pace 
Around the City of the Dead, where 

lies 
A friend who bore thy name, and 


CHAUCER 


An old man in a lodge within a park ; 


whom these eyes 


The chamber walls depicted all 


Shall see no more in his accustomed 


around 


place, 


With portraitures of huntsman, 


Linger and fold him in thy soft em- 


hawk, and hound, 


brace, 


And the hurt deer. He listeneth to 


And say good-night, for now the 


the lark, 


western skies 


Whose song comes with the sunshine 


Are red with sunset, and gray mists 


through the dark 


arise 


Of painted glass in leaden lattice 


Like damps that gather on a dead 


bound : 


man's face. 


He listeneth and he laugheth at the 


Good-night ! good -night ! as we so oft 


sound, 


have said 


Then writeth in a book like any 


Beneath this roof at midnight, in 


clerk. 


the days 


He is the poet of the dawn, who 


That are no more, and shall no 


wrote 


more return. 


The Canterbury Tales, and his old 


Thou hast but taken thy lamp and 


age 


gone to bed ; 


Made beautiful with song ; and as I 


I stay a little longer, as one stays 


read 


To cover up the embers that still 


I hear the crowing cock, I hear the 


burn. 


note 



408 



A BOOK OF SONNETS 



Of lark and linnet, and from every 
page 

Rise odors of ploughed field or flow- 
ery mead. 



SHAKESPEARE 

A vision as of crowded city streets, 
With human life in endless overflow ; 
Thunder of thoroughfares ; trum- 
pets that blow 
To battle ; clamor, in obscure re- 
treats, 
Of sailors landed from their anchored 



Whom all the Muses loved, not one 

alone ; — 
Into his hands they put the lyre of 

gold, 
And, crowned with sacred laurel at 

their fount, 
Placed him as Musagetes on their 

throne. 



MILTON 

I pace the sounding sea-beach and be- 
hold 
How the voluminous billows roll 
and run, 




Shakespeare 



Tolling of bells in turrets, and be- 
low 

Voices of children, and bright flow- 
ers that throw 

O'er garden-walls their intermingled 
sweets ! 
This vision comes to me when I unfold 

The volume of the Poet paramount, 



Upheaving and subsiding, while the 
sun 

Shines through their sheeted emer- 
ald far unrolled, 
And the ninth wave, slow gathering 
fold by fold 

All its loose-flowing garments into 
one, 



A SUMMER DAY BY THE SEA 



409 



Plunges upon the shore, and floods 
the dun 

Pale reach of sands, and changes 
them to gold. 
80 in maj estic cadence rise and fall 

The mighty undulations of thy 
song, 

O sightless bard, England's Maeon- 
ides! 
And ever and anon, high over all 

Uplifted, a ninth wave superb and 
strong, 

Floods all the soul with its melodi- 
ous seas. 



KEATS 

The young Endymion sleeps Endy- 

mion's sleep ; 
The shepherd-boy whose tale was 

left half told ! 
The solemn grove uplifts its shield 

of gold 
To the red rising moon, and loud 

and deep 
The nightingale is singing from the 

steep ; 
It is midsummer, but the air is 

cold ; 
Can it be death? Alas,beside the fold 
A shepherd's pipe lies shattered 

near his sheep. 
Lo ! in the moonlight gleams a marble 

white, 
On which I read : "Here lieth one 

whose name 
Was writ in water. " And was this 

the meed 
Of his sweet singing ? Rather let me 

write : 
' ■ The smoking flax before it burst 

to flame 
Was quenched by death, and broken 

the bruised reed." 



THE GALAXY 

Torrent of light and river of the air, 
Along whose bed the glimmering 

stars are seen 
Like gold and silver sands [in some 

ravine 
Where mountain streams have left 

their channels bare ! 



The Spaniard sees in thee the path- 
way, where 

His patron saint descended in the 
sheen 

Of his celestial armor, on serene 

And quiet nights, when all the hea- 
vens were fair. 
Not this I see, nor yet the ancient 
fable 

Of Phaeton's wild course, that 
scorched the skies 

Where'er the hoofs of his hot 
coursers trod ; 
But the white drift of worlds o'er 
chasms of sable, 

The star-dust, that is whirled aloft 
and flies 

From the invisible chariot-wheels of 
God. 



THE SOUND OF THE SEA 

The sea awoke at midnight from its 

sleep, 
And round the pebbly beaches far 

and wide 
I heard the first wave of the rising 

tide 
Rush onward with uninterrupted 

sweep ; 
A voice out of the silence of the deep, 
A sound mysteriously multiplied 
As of a cataract from the mountain's 

side, 
Or roar of winds upon a wooded 

steep. 
So comes to us at times, from the un- 
known 
And inaccessible solitudes of being, 
The rushing of the sea-tides of the 

soul ; 
And inspirations, that we deem our 

own, 
Are some divine foreshadowing and 

foreseeing 
Of things beyond our reason or 

control. 



A SUMMER DAY BY THE SEA 

The sun is set ; and in his latest 
beams 
Yon little cloud of ashen gray and 
gold, 



4io 



A BOOK OF SONNETS 



Slowly upon the amber air un- 
rolled, 

•The falling mantle of the Prophet 
seems. 
From the dim headlands many a light- 
house gleams, 

The street-lamps of the ocean ; and 
behold, 

O'erhead the banners of the night 
unfold ; 

The day hath passed into the land 
of dreams. 
O summer day beside the joyous 
sea! 

O summer day so wonderful and 
white, 

So full of gladness and so full of 
pain ! 
Forever and forever shalt thou be 

To some the gravestone of a dead 
delight, 

To some the landmark of a new do- 



THE TIDES 

I saw the long line of the vacant 
shore, 

The sea-weed and the shells upon 
the sand, 

And the brown rocks left bare on 
every hand, 

As if the" ebbing tide would flow no 
more. 
Then heard I, more distinctly than 
before, 

The ocean breathe and its great 
breast expand, 

And hurrying came on the defence- 
less land 

The insurgent waters with tumultu- 
ous roar. 
All thought and feeling and desire, I 
said, 

Love, laughter, and the exultant 
joy of song 

Have ebbed from me for ever ! Sud- 
denly o'er me 
They swept again from their deep 
ocean bed, 

And in a tumult of delight, and 
strong 

As youth, and beautiful as youth, 
upbore me. 



A SHADOW 

I said unto myself, if I were dead, 
What would befall these children ? 

What would be 
Their fate, who now are looking 

up to me 
For help and furtherance? Their 

lives, I said, 
Would be a volume wherein I have 

read 
But the first chapters, and no longer 

see 
To read the rest of their dear history, 
So full of beauty and so full of 

dread. 
Be comforted ; the world is very old, 
And generations pass, as they have 

passed, 
A troop of shadows moving with 

the sun ; 
Thousands of times has the old tale 

been told ; 
The world belongs to those who 

come the last, 
They will find hope and strength as 

we have done. 



A NAMELESS GRAVE 

"A soldier of the Union mustered 

out," 
Is the inscription on an unknown 

grave 
At Newport News, beside the salt- 
sea wave, 
Nameless and dateless; sentinel or 

scout 
Shot down in skirmish, or disastrous 

rout 
Of battle, when the loud artillery 

drave 
Its iron wedges through the ranks 

of brave 
And doomed battalions, storming 

the redoubt. 
Thou unknown hero sleeping by the 

sea 
In thy forgotten grave ! with secret 

shame 
I feel my pulses beat, my forehead 

burn, 
When I remember thou hast given 

for me 



IL PONTE VECCHIO DI FIRENZE 



411 



All that thou hadst, thy life, thy 


THE OLD BRIDGE AT FLOR- 


very name, 


ENCE 


And I can give thee nothing in re- 




turn. 


Taddeo Gaddi built me. I am old, 




Five centuries old. I plant my foot 


SLEEP 


of stone 




Upon the Arno, as St. Michael's 


Lull me to sleep, ye winds, whose 


own 


fitful sound 


Was planted on the dragon. Fold 


Seems from some faint ^Eolian 


by fold 


harp-string caught ; 


Beneath me as it struggles, I behold 




Ponte Vecchio 



Seal up the hundred wakeful eyes 

of thought 
As Hermes with his lyre in sleep 

profound 
The hundred wakeful eyes of Argus 

bound ; 
For I am weary, and am over- 
wrought 
With too much toil, with too much 

care distraught, 
And with the iron crown of anguish 

crowned. 
Lay thy soft hand upon my brow and 

cheek, 

peaceful Sleep ! until from pain 

released 

1 breathe again uninterrupted 

breath ! 
Ah, with what subtle meaning did the 

Greek 
Call thee the lesser mystery at the 

feast 
Whereof the greater mystery is 

death ! 



Its glistening scales. Twice hath it 
overthrown 

My kindred and companions. Me 
alone 

It moveth not, but is by me con- 
trolled. 
I can remember when the Medici 

Were driven from Florence ; longer 
still ago 

The final wars of Ghibelline and 
Guelf. 
Florence adorns me with her jewelry ; 

And when I think that Michael An- 
gelo 

Hath leaned on me, I glory in my- 
self. 



IL PONTE VECCHIO DI FI- 
RENZE 

Gaddi mi f ece ; il Ponte Vecchio sono ; 
Cinquecent' anni gia sull' Arno pi- 
anto 



412 



A BOOK OF SONNETS 



II piede, come il suo Michele Santo 
Piantd sul draco. Mentre ch' io 
ragiono 
ho vedo torcere con flebil suono 
Le rilucenti scaglie. Ha questi af- 

franto 
Due volte i miei maggior. Me solo 

intanto 
Neppure muove, ed io non 1' abban- 
dono. 
Io mi rammento quando fur cacciati 
I Medici ; pur quando Ghibellino 
E Guelfo fecer pace mi rammento. 
Fiorenza i suoi giojelli m' ha prestati; 
E quando penso ch' Agnoloil divino 
Su me posava, insuperbir mi sento. 



NATURE 

As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, 
Leads by the hand her little child to 

bed, 
Half willing, half reluctant to be led, 
And leave his broken playthings on 

the floor, 
Still gazing at them through the open 

door, 
Nor wholly reassured and comforted 
By promises of others in their stead, 
Which, though more splendid, may 

not please him more ; 
So Nature deals with us, and takes 

away 
Our playthings one by one, and by 

the hand 
Leads us to rest so gently, that we 

go 
Scarce knowing if we wish to go or 

stay, 
Being too full of sleep to understand 
How far the unknown transcends 

the what we know. 



IN THE CHURCHYARD AT 
TARRYTOWN 

Here lies the gentle humorist, who 
died 

In the bright Indian Summer of his 
fame! 

A simple stone, with but a date and 
name, 

Marks his secluded resting-place be- 
side 



The river that he loved and glorified. 
Here in the autumn of his days he 

came, 
But the dry leaves of life were all 

aflame 
With tints that brightened and were 

multiplied. 
How sweet a life was his ; how sweet 

a death ! 
Living, to wing with mirth the 

weary hours, 
Or with romantic tales the heart to 

cheer ; 
Dying, to leave a memory like the 

breath 
Of summers' full of sunshine and of 

showers, 
A grief and gladness in the atmos- 
phere. 

ELIOT'S OAK 

Thou ancient oak! whose myriad 

leaves are loud 
With sounds of unintelligible 

speech, 
Sounds as of surges on a shingly 

beach, 
Or multitudinous murmurs of a 

crowd ; 
With some mysterious gift of tongues 

endowed, 
Thou speakest a different dialect to 

each; 
To me a language that no man can 

teach, 
Of a lost race, long vanished like a 

cloud. 
For underneath thy shade, in days 

remote, 
Seated like Abraham at eventide 
Beneath the oaks of Mamre, the un- 
known 
Apostle of the Indians, Eliot, wrote 
His Bible in a language that hath 

died 
And is forgotten, save by thee alone. 

THE DESCENT OF THE MUSES 

Nine sisters, beautiful in form and 
face. 
Came from their convent on the 
shining heights 



PARKER CLEAVELAND 



4i3 



Or Pierus, the mountain of delights, 
To dwell among the people at its 

base. 
Then seemed the world to change. 

All time and space, 
Splendor of cloudless days and 

starry nights. 
And men and manners, and all 

sounds and sights, 
Had a new meaning, a diviner grace. 
Proud were these sisters, but were not 

too proud 
To teach in schools of little country 

towns 
Science and song, and all the arts 

that please ; 
So that while housewives span, and 

farmers ploughed, 
Their comely daughters, clad in 

homespun gowns, 
Learned the sweet songs of the Pier- 
ides. 

VENICE 

White swan of cities, slumbering in 
thy nest 
So wonderfully built among the 

reeds 
Of the lagoon, that fences thee and 

feeds, 
As sayeth thy old historian and thy 
guest ! 
White water-lily, cradled and caressed 
By ocean streams, and from the silt 
and weeds 
Lifting thy golden filaments and 
seeds, 
Thy sun-illumined spires, thy crown 
and crest! 
White phantom city, whose untrodden 
streets 
Are rivers, and whose pavements are 

the shifting 
Shadows of palaces and strips of sky ; 
I wait to see thee vanish like the fleets 
Seen in mirage, or towers of cloud 

uplifting 
In air their unsubstantial masonry. 



THE POETS 

O ye dead Poets, who are living still 
Immortal in your verse, though life 
be fled, 



And ye, O living Poets, who are 

dead 
Though ye are living, if neglect can 

kill, 
Tell me if in the darkest hours of ill, 
With drops of anguish falling fast 

and red 
From the sharp crown of thorns 

upon your head, 
Ye were not glad your errand to ful- 
fil? 
Yes ; for the gift and ministry of Song 
Have something in them so divinely 

sweet, 
It can assuage the bitterness of 

wrong ; 
Not in the clamor of the crowded 

street, 
Not in the shouts and plaudits of the 

throng, 
But in ourselves, are triumph and 

defeat. 



PARKER CLEAVELAND 

WRITTEN ON REVISITING BRUNSWICK 
IN THE SUMMER OF 1875 

Among the many lives that I have 

known, 
None I remember more serene and 

sweet, 
More rounded in itself and more 

complete, 
Than his, who lies beneath this 

funeral stone. 
These pines, that murmur in low 

monotone, 
These walks frequented by scholas- 
tic feet, 
Were all his world ; but in this calm 

retreat 
For him the Teacher's chair became 

a throne. 
With fond affection memory loves to 

dwell 
On the old days, when his example 

made 
A pastime of the toil of tongue and 

pen ; 
And now, amid the groves he loved so 

well 
That naught could lure him from 

their grateful shade, 
He sleeps, but wakes elsewhere, for 

God hath said, Amen ! 



414 



A BOOK OF SONNETS 



THE HARVEST MOON 

It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded 
vanes 

And roofs of villages, on woodland 
crests 

And their aerial neighborhoods of 
nests 

Deserted, on the curtained window - 
panes 
Of rooms where children sleep, on 
country lanes 

And harvest-fields, its mystic splen- 
dor rests! 

Gone are the birds that were our 
summer guests ; 

With the last sheaves return the 
laboring wains ! 
All things are symbols: the external 
shows 

Of Nature have their image in the 
mind, 

As flowers and fruits and falling of 
the leaves ; 
The song-birds leave us at the sum- 
mer's close, 

Only the empty nests are left be- 
hind, 

And pipings of the quail among the 
sheaves. 



TO THE RIVER RHONE 

Thou Royal River, born of sun and 

shower 
In chambers purple with the Alpine 

glow, 
Wrapped in the spotless ermine of 

the snow 
And rocked by tempests! — at the 

appointed hour 
Forth, like a steel-clad horseman from 

a tower, 
With clang and clink of harness dost 

thou go 
To meet thy vassal torrents, that 

below 
Rush to receive thee and obey thy 

power. 
And now thou movest in triumphal 

march, 
A king among the rivers! On thy 

way 
A hundred towns await and welcome 

thee ; 



Bridges uplift for thee the stately arch, 
Vineyards encircle thee with gar- 
lands gay, 
And fleets attend thy progress to 
the sea! 



THE THREE SILENCES OF 
MOLINOS 

TO JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

Three Silences there are: the first of 
speech, 

The second of desire, the third of 
thought ; 

This is the lore a Spanish monk, dis- 
traught 

With dreams and visions, was the 
first to teach. 
These Silences, commingling each 
with each, 

Made up the perfect Silence that 
he sought 

And prayed for, and wherein at 
times he caught 

Mysterious sounds from realms be- 
yond our reach. 
O thou, whose daily life anticipates 

The life to come, and in whose 
thought and word 

The spiritual world preponderates, 
Hermit of Amesbury! thou too hast 
heard 

Voices and melodies from beyond 
the gates, 

And speakest only when thy soul is 
stirred ! 



THE TWO RIVERS 



Slowly the hour-hand of the clock 
moves round ; 

So slowly that no human eye hath 
power 

To see it move ! Slowly in shine 01 
shower 

The painted ship above it, home- 
ward bound, 
Sails, but seems motionless, as if 
aground ; 

Yet both arrive at last ; and in his 
tower 



BOSTON 



4i5 



The slumberous watchman wakes 


And torrent-like thy force on peb- 


and strikes the hour, 


bles spending, 


A mellow, measured, melancholy 


Thou wouldst not listen to a poet's 


sound. 


lay. 


Midnight ! the outpost of advancing 


Thoughts, like a loud and sudden 


day! 


rush of wings, 


The frontier town and citadel of 


Regrets and recollections of things 


night ! 


past, 


The watershed of Time, from which 


With hints and prophecies of things 


the streams 


to be, 


Of Yesterday and To-morrow take 


And inspirations, which, could they 


their way, 


be things, 


One to the land of promise and of 


And stay with us, and we could 


light, 


hold' them fast, 


One to the land of darkness and of 


Were our good angels, — these I 


dreams ! 


owe to thee. 


11 


IV 


River of Yesterday, with current 


And thou, River of To-morrow, 


swift 


flowing 


Through chasms descending, and 


Between thy narrow adamantine 


soon lost to sight, 


walls, 


I do not care to follow in their flight 


But beautiful, and white with wa- 


The faded leaves, that on thy bosom 


terfalls, 


drift! 


And wreaths of mist, like hands the 


River of To-morrow, I uplift 


pathway showing ; 


Mine eyes, and thee I follow, as the 

night 
"Wanes into morning, and the dawn- 


I hear the trumpets of the morning 
blowing, 
I hear thy mighty voice, that calls 


ing light 


and calls, 


Broadens, and all the shadows fade 


And see, as Ossian saw in Morven's 


and shift! 


halls, 


I follow, follow, where thy waters run 


Mysterious phantoms, coming, beck- 


Through unfrequented, unfamiliar 


oning, going ! 


fields, 


It is the mystery of the unknown 


Fragrant with flowers and musical 


That fascinates us ; we are children 


with song ; 


still, 


Still follow, follow ; sure to meet the 


Wayward and wistful ; with one 


sun, 


hand we cling 


And confident, that what the future 


To the familiar things we call our own. 


yields 


And with the other, resolute of 


Will be the right, unless myself be 


will, 


wrong. 


Grope in the dark for what the day 
will bring. 


in 
Yet not in vain, River of Yesterday, 




Through chasms of darkness to the 


BOSTON 


deep descending, 




I heard thee sobbing in the rain, 


St. Botolph's Town! Hither across 


and blending 


the plains 


Thy voice with other voices far 


And fens of Lincolnshire, in garb 


away. 


austere, 


I called to thee, and yet thou wouldst 


There came a Saxon monk, and 


not stay, 


founded here 


But turbulent, and with thyself con- 


A Priory, pillaged by marauding 


tending, 


Danes, 



416 



A BOOK OF SONNETS 




St. Botolph's Church, Boston, England. 



So that thereof no vestige now re- 
mains ; 
Only a name, that, spoken loud and 

clear, 
And echoed in another hemisphere, 
Survives the sculptured walls and 

painted panes. 
St. Botolph's Town ! Far over leagues 

of land 
And leagues of sea looks forth its 

noble tower, 
And far around the chiming bells 

are heard ; 
So may that sacred name forever stand 
A landmark, and a symbol of the 

power 
That lies concentred in a single word. 

ST. JOHN'S, CAMBRIDGE 

I stand beneath the tree, whose 
branches shade 
Thy western window, Chapel of St. 
John! 



And hear its leaves repeat their ben- 
ison 

On him, whose hand thy stones me- 
morial laid ; 
Then I remember one of whom was 
said 

In the world's darkest hour, "Be- 
hold thy son!" 

And see him living still, and wan- 
dering on 

And waiting for the advent long 
delayed. 
Not only tongues of the apostles 
teach 

Lessons of love and light, but these 
expanding 

And sheltering boughs with all 
their leaves implore, 
And say in language clear as human 
speech, 

"The peace of God, that passeth 
understanding, 

Be and abide with you forever* 
more ! " 



HOLIDAYS 



4i7 



MOODS 

Oh that a Song would sing itself to me 
Out of the heart of Nature, or the 

heart 
Of man, the child of Nature, not of 

Art, 
Fresh as the morning, salt as the 

salt sea, 
With just enough of bitterness to be 
A medicine to this sluggish mood, 

and start 
The life-blood in my veins, and so 

impart 
Healing and help in this dull leth- 
argy! 
Alas ! not always doth the breath of 

song 
Breathe on us. It is like the wind 

that bloweth 
At its own will, not ours, nor tarri- 

eth long ; 
We hear the sound thereof, but no 

man knoweth 
From whence it comes, so sudden 

and swift and strong, 
Nor whither in its wayward course 

it goeth. 



WOODSTOCK PARK 

Here in a little rustic hermitage 
Alfred the Saxon King, Alfred the 

Great, 
Postponed the cares of king-craft to 

translate 
The Consolations of the Roman sage. 
Here Geoffrey Chaucer in his ripe old 

age 
Wrote the unrivalled Tales, which 

soon or late 
The venturous hand that strives to 

imitate 
Vanquished must fall on the unfin- 
ished page. 
Two kings were they, who ruled by 

right divine, 
And both supreme ; one in the realm 

of Truth, 
One in the realm of Fiction and of 

Song. 
What prince hereditary of their line, 
Uprising in the strength and flush of 

youth, 
Their glory shall inherit and prolong? 



THE FOUR PRINCESSES AT 
WILNA 

A PHOTOGRAPH 

Sweet faces, that from pictured case- 
ments lean 
As from a castle window, looking 

down 
On some gay pageant passing 

through a town, 
Yourselves the fairest figures in the 

scene ; 
With what a gentle grace, with what 

serene 
Unconsciousness- ye wear the triple 

crown 
Of youth and beauty and the fair 

renown 
Of a great name, that ne'er hath 

tarnished been ! 
From your soft eyes, so innocent and 

sweet, 
Four spirits, sweet and innocent as 

they, 
Gaze on the world below, the sky 

above ; 
Hark ! there is some one singing in 

the street ; 
' ' Faith, Hope, and Love ! these 

three," he seems to say ; 
"These three; and greatest of the 

three is Love." 



HOLIDAYS 

The holiest of all holidays are those 

Kept by ourselves in silence and 
apart ; 

The secret anniversaries of the 
heart, 

When the full river of feeling over- 
flows ; — 
The happy days unclouded to their 
close ; 

The sudden joys that out of dark- 
ness start 

As flames from ashes ; swift desires 
that dart 

Like swallows singing down each 
wind that blows ! 
White as the gleam of a receding sail, 

White as a cloud that floats and 
fades in air, 

White as the whitest lily on a 
stream. 



4i8 



A BOOK OF SONNETS 



These tender memories are ; — a fairy 
tale 
Of some enchanted land we know 

not where, 
But lovely as a landscape in a dream. 

WAPENTAKE 

TO ALFRED TENNYSON 

Poet ! I come to touch thy lance with 
mine ; 

Not as a knight, who on the listed 
field 

Of tourney touched his adversary's 
shield 

In token of defiance, but in sign 
Of homage to the mastery, which is 
thine, 

In English song ; nor will I keep 
concealed, 

And voiceless as a rivulet frost-con- 
gealed, 

My admiration for thy verse divine. 
Not of the howling dervishes of song, 

Who craze the brain with their de- 
lirious dance, 

Art thou, O sweet historian of the 
heart ! 
Therefore to thee the laurel-leaves be- 
long, 

To thee our love and our allegiance, 

For thy allegiance to the poet's art. 



THE BROKEN OAR 

Once upon Iceland's solitary strand 
A poet wandered with his book and 

pen, 
Seeking some final word, some sweet 

Amen, 
Wherewith to close the volume in 

his hand. 
The billows rolled and plunged upon 

the sand, 
The circling sea-gulls swept beyond 

his ken, 



And from the parting cloud -rack 

now and then t 

Flashed the red sunset over sea and 

land. 
Then by the billows at his feet was 

tossed 
A broken oar; and carved thereon 

he read : 
' ' Oft was I weary, when I toiled at 

thee ; " 
And like a man, who findeth what 

was lost, 
He wrote the words, then lifted up 

his head, 
And flung his useless pen into the 

sea. 



THE CROSS OF SNOW 

In the long, sleepless watches of the 

night, 
A gentle face — the face of one long 

dead — 
Looks at me from the wall, where 

round its head 
The night-lamp casts a halo of pale 

light. 
Here in this room she died ; and soul 

more white 
Never through martyrdom of fire 

was led 
To its repose ; nor can in books be 

read 
The legend of a life more bene- 

dight. 
There is a mountain in the distant 

West 
That, sun-defying, in its deep ra- 
vines 
Displays a cross of snow upon its 

side. 
Such is the cross I wear upon my 

breast 
These eighteen years, through all 

the changing scenes 
And seasons, changeless since the 

day she died. 




Longfellow in his Study. 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



FLIGHT THE FOURTH 



CHARLES SUMNER 

Garlands upon his grave 
And flowers upon his hearse, 
And to the tender heart and brave 
The tribute of this verse. 

His was the troubled life, 
The conflict and the pain, 
The grief, the bitterness of strife, 
The honor without stain. 

Like Winkelried, he took 
Into his manly breast 
The sheaf of hostile spears, and broke 
A path for the oppressed. 



Then from the fatal field 
Upon a nation's heart 
Borne like a warrior on his shield ! 
So should the brave depart. 

Death takes us by surprise, 
And stays our hurrying feet; 
The great design unfinished lies, 
Our lives are incomplete. 

But in the dark unknown 
Perfect their circles seem, 
Even as a bridge's arch of stone 
Is rounded in the stream. 

Alike are life and death, 
When life in death survives, 



420 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



And the uninterrupted breath 
Inspires a thousand lives. 

Were a star quenched on high, 
For ages would its light, 
Still travelling downward from the 
sky, 
Shine on our mortal sight. 

So when a great man dies, 
For years beyond our ken, 
The light he leaves behind him lies 
Upon the paths of men. 



TRAVELS BY THE FIRESIDE 

The ceaseless rain is falling fast, 

And yonder gilded vane, 
Immovable for three days past, 

Points to the misty main. 

It drives me in upon myself 
And to the fireside gleams, 

To pleasant books that crowd my 
shelf, 
And still more pleasant dreams. 

I read whatever bards have sung 

Of lands beyond the sea, 
And the bright days when I was 
young 

Come thronging back to me. 

In fancy I can hear again 

The Alpine torrent's roar, 
The mule-bells on the hills of Spain, 

The sea at Elsinore. 

I see the convent's gleaming wall 
Rise from its groves of pine, 

And towers of old cathedrals tall, 
And castles by the Rhine. 

I journey on by park and spire, 

Beneath centennial trees, 
Through fields with poppies all on fire, 

And gleams of distant seas. 

I fear no more the dust and heat, 

ISTo more I feel fatigue, 
While journeying with another's feet 

O'er many a lengthening league. 

Let others traverse sea and land, 
And toil through various climes, 



I turn the world round with my hand 
Reading these poets' rhymes. 

From them I learn whatever lies 
Beneath each changing zone, 

And see, when looking with their 
eyes, 
Better than with mine own. 



CADENABBIA 



LAKE OF COMO 



No 



sound of wheels or hoof-beat 
breaks 
The silence of the summer day, 
As by the loveliest of all lakes 
I while the idle hours away. 

I pace the leafy colonnade, 
Where level branches of the plane 

Above me weave a roof of shade 
Impervious to the sun and rain. 

At times a sudden rush of air 
Flutters the lazy leaves o'erhead, 10 

And gleams of sunshine toss and 
flare 
Like torches down the path I tread. 

By Somariva's garden gate 

I make the marble stairs my seat, 

And hear the water, as I wait, 
Lapping the steps beneath my feet. 

The undulation sinks and swells 

Along the stony parapets, 
And far away the floating bells 

Tinkle upon the fisher's nets. 20 

Silent and slow, by tower and town 
The freighted barges come, and go, 

Their pendent shadows gliding down 
By town and tower submerged be- 
low. 

The hills sweep upward from the 
shore, 

With villas scattered one by one 
Upon their wooded spurs, and lower 

Bellaggio blazing in the sun. 

xlnd dimly seen, a tangled mass 
Of walls and woods, of light and 
shade, 30 



MONTE CASSINO 



421 



Stands, beckoning up the Stelvio Pass, 
Varenna with its white cascade. 

I ask myself, Is this a dream? 

Will it all vanish into air ? 
Is there a land of such supreme 

And perfect beauty anywhere? 

Sweet vision ! Do not fade away : 
Linger, until my heart shall take 

Into itself the summer clay, 

And all the beauty of the lake ; 40 



The Land of Labor and the Land of 
Rest, 
Where mediaeval towns are white on 
all 
The hillsides, and where every moun- 
tain's crest 
Is an Etrurian or a Roman wall. 

There is Alagna, where Pope Boni- 
face 
Was dragged with contumely from 
his throne ; 10 




By Soinariva's garden gate 

I make the marble stairs my seat 



Linger, until upon my brain 

Is stamped an image of the scene 

Then fade into the air again, 
And be as if thou hadst not been. 



MONTE CASSINO 

TERRA DI LAVORO 

Beautiful valley! through whose 
verdant meads 
Unheard the Garigliano glides 
along ; — 
The Liris, nurse of rushes and of 
reeds, 
The river taciturn of classic song. 



Sciarra Colonna, was that day's dis- 
grace 
The Pontiff's only, or in part thine 
own? 

There is Ceprano, where a renegade 
Was each Apulian, as great Dante 
saith, 
When Manfred by his men-at-arms be- 
trayed 
Spurred on to Benevento and to 
death. 

There is Aquinum, the old Volscian 
town, 
Where Juvenal was born, whose 
lurid light 



422 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



Still hovers o'er his birthplace like the 
crown 
Of splendor seen o'er cities in the 
night. 20 

Doubled the splendor is, that in its 
streets 
The Angelic Doctor as a school- 
boy played, 
And dreamed perhaps the dreams, 
that he repeats 
In ponderous folios for scholastics 
made. 

And there, uplifted, like a passing 
cloud 
That pauses on a mountain summit 
high, 
Monte Cassino's convent rears its 
proud 
And venerable walls against the 
sky. 

Well I remember how on foot I 
climbed 
The stony pathway leading to its 
gate ; 30 

Above, the convent bells for vespers 
chimed, 
Below, the darkening town grew 
desolate. 

Well I remember the low arch and 
dark, 
The courtyard with its well, the 
terrace wide, 
From which, far down, the valley like 
a park, 
Veiled in the evening mists, was 
dim descried. 

The day was dying, and with feeble 
hands 
Caressed the mountain - tops ; the 
vales between 
Darkened; the river in the meadow- 
lands 
Sheathed itself as a sword, and was 
not seen. 40 

The silence of the place was like a 
sleep, 
So full of rest it seemed ; each pass- 
ing tread 
Was a reverberation from the deep 
Recesses of the ages that are dead. 



For, more than thirteen centuries ago, 
Benedict fleeing from the gates of 
Rome, 
A youth disgusted with its vice and 
woe, 
Sought in these mountain solitudes 
a home. 

He founded here his Convent and his 
Rule 
Of prayer and work, and counted 
work as prayer ; 50 

The pen became a clarion, and his 
school 
Flamed like a beacon in the mid- 
night air. 

What though Boccaccio, in his reck- 
less way, 
Mocking the lazy brotherhood, de- 
plores 
The illuminated manuscripts, that lay 
Torn and neglected on the dusty 
floors? 

Boccaccio was a novelist, a child 
Of fancy and of fiction at the best ! 

This the urbane librarian said, and 
smiled 
Incredulous, as at some idle jest. 60 

Upon such themes as these, with one 
young friar 
I sat conversing late into the night, 
Till in its cavernous chimney the 
wood -fire 
Had burnt its heart out like an an- 
chorite. 

And then translated, in my convent 
cell, 
Myself yet not myself, in dreams I 
lay, 
And, as a monk who hears the matin 
bell, 
Started from sleep ; — already it 
was day. 

From the high window I beheld the 
scene 
On which Saint Benedict so oft had 
gazed, — 70 

The mountains and the valley in the 
sheen 
Of the bright sun, — and stood as 
one amazed. 



AMALFI 



423 



Gray mists were rolling, rising, van- 
ishing ; 
The woodlands glistened with their 
jewelled crowns; 
Far off the mellow bells began to ring 
For matins in the half-awakened 
towns. 

The conflict of the Present and the 

Past, 

The ideal and the actual in our life, 

As on a field of battle held me fast, 

Where this world and the next 

world were at strife. 80 

For, as the valley from its sleep 
awoke, 
I saw the iron horses of the steam 
Toss to the morning air their plumes 
of smoke, 
And woke, as one awaketh from a 
dream. 



AMALFI 

Sweet the memory is to me 
Of a land beyond the sea, 
Where the waves and mountains 
meet, 



Where amid her mulberry-trees 
Sits Amalfi in the heat, 
Bathing ever her white feet 
In the tideless summer seas. 

In the middle of the town, 

From its fountains in the hills, 9 

Tumbling through the narrow gorge, 

The Canneto rushes down, 

Turns the great wheels of the mills, 

Lifts the hammers of the forge. 

'T is a stairway, not a street, 
That ascends the deep ravine, 
Where the torrent leaps between 
Rocky walls that almost meet. 
Toiling up from stair to stair 
Peasant girls their burdens bear ; 
Sunburnt daughters of the soil, 20 

Stately figures tall and straight, 
What inexorable fate 
Dooms them to this life of toil? 

Lord of vineyards and of lands, 

Far above the convent stands. 

On its terraced walk aloof 

Leans a monk with folded hands. 

Placid, satisfied, serene, 

Looking down upon the scene 

Over wall and red-tiled roof : ™ 




; Lord of vineyards and of lands, 
Far above the convent : 



424 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



Wondering unto what good end 
All this toil and traffic tend, 
And why all men cannot be 
Free from care and free from pain, 
And the sordid love of gain, 
And as indolent as he. 

Where are now the freighted barks 
From the marts of east and west ? 
Where the knights in iron sarks 
Journeying to the Holy Land, 40 

Glove of steel upon the hand, 
Cross of crimson on the breast t 
Where the pomp of camp and court ? 
Where the pilgrims with their 

prayers? 
Where the merchants with their wares, 
And their gallant brigantines 
Sailing safely into port 
Chased by corsair Algerines ? 

Vanished like a fleet of cloud, 
Like a passing trumpet-blast, 50 

Are those splendors of the past, 
And the commerce and the crowd ! 
Fathoms deep beneath the seas 
Lie the ancient w T harves and quays; 
Swallowed by the engulfing waves ; 
Silent streets and vacant halls, 
Ruined roofs and towers and walls ; 
Hidden from all mortal eyes 
Deep the sunken city lies : 
Even cities have their graves ! 60 

This is an enchanted land ! 

Round the headlands far away 

Sweeps the blue Salernian bay 

With its sickle of white sand : 

Further still and furthermost 

On the dim discovered coast 

Psestum with its ruins lies, 

And its roses all in bloom 

Seem to tinge the fatal skies 

Of that lonely land of doom. 70 

On his terrace, high in air, 

Nothing doth the good monk care 

For such worldly themes as these. 

From the garden just below 

Little puffs of perfume blow, 

And a sound is in his ears 

Of the murmur of the bees 

In the shining chestnut trees ; 

Nothing else he heeds or hears. 

All the landscape seems to swoon 80 

In the happy afternoon ; 



Slowly o'er his senses creep 
The encroaching waves of sleep, 
And he sinks as sank the town, 
Unresisting, fathoms down, 
Into caverns cool and deep ! 

Walled about with drifts of snow, 
Hearing the fierce north-wind blow, 
Seeing all the landscape white 
And the river cased in ice, 
Comes this memory of delight, 
Comes this vision unto me 
Of a long-lost Paradise 
In the land beyond the sea. 



THE SERMON OF ST. FRANCIS 

Up soared the lark into the air, 
A shaft of song, a winged prayer, 
As if a soul released from pain 
Were flying back to heaven again. 

St. Francis heard : it was to him 
An emblem of the Seraphim ; 
The upward motion of the fire, 
The light, the heat, the heart's desire. 

Around Assisi's convent gate 

The birds, God's poor who cannot wait, 

From moor and mere and darksome 

wood 
Come flocking for their dole of food. 

" O brother birds," St. Francis said, 
' ' Ye come to me and ask for bread, 
But not with bread' alone to-day 
Shall ye be fed and sent away. 

" Ye shall be fed, ye happy birds, 

With manna of celestial words ; 

Not mine, though mine they seem to 

be, 
Not mine, though they be spoken 

through me. 

" Oh, doubly are ye bound to praise 
The great Creator in your lays ; 
He giveth you your plumes of down, 
Your crimson hoods, your cloaks of 
brown. 

' ' He giveth you your wings to fly 
And breathe a purer air on high, 
And careth for you everywhere, 
Who for yourselves so little care ! " 



BELISARIUS 



425 



With flutter of swift wings and songs 
Together rose the feathered throngs, 
And singing scattered far apart ; 
Deep peace was in St. Francis' heart. 



Blows through the city gate, 
And covers me with dust 
From the wheels of the august 

Justinian the Great. 




I still 



Am Belisarius ' 



He knew not if the brotherhood 
His homily had understood ; 
He only knew that to one ear 
The meaning of his words was clear 



BELISARIUS 

I am poor and old and blind ; 
The sun burns me, and the wind 



It was for him I chased 

The Persians o'er wild and waste, 

As General of the East ; 
Mght after night I lay 
In their camps of yesterday ; 

Their forage was my feast. 

For him, with sails of red, 
And torches at mast-head, 
Piloting the great fleet, 



426 



SONGO RIVER 



I swept the Afric coasts 
And scattered the Vandal hosts, 
Like dust in a windy street. 

For him I won again 

The Ausonian realm and reign, 

Rome and Parthenope ; 
And all the land was mine 
From the summits of Apennine 

To the shores of either sea. 

For him, in my feeble age, 
I dared the battle's rage, 

To save Byzantium's state, 
When the tents of Zabergan 
Like snow-drifts overran 

The road to the Golden Gate. 

And for this, for this, behold ! 
Infirm and blind and old, 

With gray, uncovered head, 
Beneath the very arch 
Of my triumphal march, 

I stand and beg my bread 1 

Methinks I still can hear, 
Sounding distinct and near, 

The Vandal monarch's cry, 
As, captive and disgraced, 
With majestic step he paced, — 

"All, all is Vanity ! " 

Ah! vainest of all things 
Is the gratitude of kings ; 

The plaudits of the crowd 
Are but the clatter of feet 
At midnight in the street, 

Hollow and restless and loud. 

But the bitterest disgrace 
Is to see forever the face 

Of the Monk of Ephesus! 
The unconquerable will 
This, too, can bear ; — I still 

Am Belisarius. 



SONGO RIVER 

Nowhere such a devious stream, 
Save in fancy or in dream, 



30 



40 



50 



Winding slow through bush and 

brake, 
Links together lake and lake. 

Walled with woods or sandy shelf, 
Ever doubling on itself 
Flows the stream, so still and slow 
That it hardly seems to flow. 

Never errant knight of old, 
Lost in woodland or on wold, tc 

Such a winding path pursued 
Through the sylvan solitude. 

Never school-boy, in his quest 
After hazel-nut or nest, 
Through the forest in and out 
Wandered loitering thus about. 

In the mirror of its tide 
Tangled thickets on each side 
Hang inverted, and between 
Floating cloud or sky serene. 20 

Swift or swallow on the wing 
Seems the only living thing, 
Or the loon, that laughs and flies 
Down to those reflected skies. 

Silent stream ! thy Indian name 
Unfamiliar is to fame ; 
For thou hidest here alone, 
Well content to be unknown. 

But thy tranquil waters teach 
Wisdom deep as human speech, 30 
Moving without haste or noise 
In unbroken equipoise. 

Though thou turnest no busy mill, 
And art ever calm and still, 
Even thy silence seems to say 
To the traveller on his way : — 

" Traveller, hurrying from the heat 

Of the citv, stay thy feet ! 

Rest awhile, nor longer waste 

Life with inconsiderate haste ! 40 

" Be not like a stream that brawls 
Loud with shallow waterfalls, 
But in quiet self-control 
Link together soul and soul." 




Turn, turn, my wheel ! Turn round and round " 



KERAMOS 



Turn, turn, my wheel! Turn round 
and round 

Without a 'pause, without a sound : 
So spins the flying world away ! 

This clay, well mixed with marl and 
sand, 

Follows the motion of my hand ; 

For some must follow, and some com- 
mand, 
Though all are made of clay ! 

Thus sang the Potter at his task 
Beneath the blossoming hawthorn- 
tree, 
While o'er his features, like a mask, jo 
The quilted sunshine and leaf-shade 



Moved, as the boughs above him 

swayed, 
And clothed him, till he seemed to be 
A figure woven in tapestry, 
So sumptuously was he arrayed 
In that magnificent attire 
Of sable tissue flaked with fire. 
Like a magician he appeared, 
A conjurer without book or beard ; 
And while he plied his magic art — 20 
For it was magical to me — 
I stood in silence and apart, 
And wondered more and more to see 
That shapeless, lifeless mass of clay 
Rise up to meet the master's hand, 
And now contract and now expand, 



428 



KfiRAMOS 



And even his slightest touch obey ; 
While ever in a thoughtful mood 
He sang his ditty, and at times 
Whistled a tune between the rhymes, 
As a melodious interlude. 31 

Turn, turn, my wheel! All things 

must change 
To something new, to something 
strange ; 
Nothing that is can pause or stay ; 
The moon will wax, the moon will wane, 
The mist and cloud will turn to rain, 
The rain to mist and cloud again, . 
To-morrow be to-day. 

Thus still the Potter sang, and still, 
By some unconscious act of will, 40 
The melody and even the words 
Were intermingled with my thought, 
As bits of colored thread are caught 
And woven into nests of birds. 
And thus to regions far remote, 
Beyond the ocean's vast expanse, 
This wizard in the motley coat 
Transported me on wings of song, 
And by the northern shores of France 
Bore me with restless speed along. 50 

What land is this that seems to be 
A mingling of the land and sea ? 
This land of sluices, dikes, and 

dunes ? 
This water-net, that tessellates 
The landscape ? this unending maze 
Of gardens, through whose latticed 

gates 
The imprisoned pinks and tulips 

gaze ; 
Where in long summer afternoons 
The sunshine, softened by the haze, 
Comes streaming down as through a 

screen ; 60 

Where over fields and pastures green 
The painted ships float high in air, 
And over all and everywhere 
The sails of windmills sink and soar 
Like wings of sea- gulls on the shore? 

What land is this ? Yon pretty town 
Is Delft, with all its wares displayed ; 
The pride, the market - place, the 

crown 
And centre of the Potter's trade. 
See ! every house and room is bright 
With glimmers of reflected light 71 



From plates that on the dresser shine ; 
Flagons to foam with Flemish beer, 
Or sparkle with the Rhenish wine, 
And pilgrim flasks with fleurs-de-lis, 
And ships upon a rolling sea, 
And tankards pewter topped, and 

queer 
With comic mask and musketeer ! 
Each hospitable chimney smiles 
A welcome from its painted tiles ; 80 
The parlor walls, the chamber floors, 
The stairways and the corridors, 
The borders of the garden walks, 
Are beautiful with fadeless flowers, 
That never droop in winds or showers, 
And never wither on their stalks. 

Turn, turn, my wheel! All life is 

brief; 
What now is bud will soon be leaf, 

What now is leaf will soon decay ; 
The wind blows east, the wind blows 

west ; 90 

The blue eggs in the robin's nest 
Will soon ham wings and beak and 

breast, 
And flutter and fly away. 

Now southward through the air I 

glide, 
The song my only pursuivant, 
And see across the landscape wide 
The blue Charente, upon whose tide 
The belfries and the spires of Saintes 
Ripple and rock from side to side, 
As, when an earthquake rends its 

walls, 100 

A crumbling city reels and falls. 

Who is it in the suburbs here, 
This Potter, working with such cheer, 
In this mean house, this mean attire, 
His manly features bronzed with fire, 
Whose figulines and rustic wares 
Scarce find him bread from day to 

day ? 
This madman, as the people say, 
Who breaks his tables and his chairs 
To feed his furnace fires, nor cares no 
Who goes unfed if they are fed, 
Nor who may live if they are dead ? 
This alchemist with hollow cheeks 
And sunken, searching eyes, who 

seeks, 
By mingled earths and ores combined 
With potency of fire, to find 



KERAMOS 



429 



Some new enamel, hard and bright, 
His dream, his passion, his delight? 

O Palissy ! within thy breast 
Burned the hot fever of unrest ; 120 
Thine was the prophet's vision, thine 
The exultation, the divine 
Insanity of noble minds, 
That never falters nor abates, 
But labors and endures and waits, 
Till "all that it foresees it finds, 
Or what it cannot find creates ! 

Turn, turn, my wheel ! This earthen 

jar 
A touch can make, a touch can mar ; 

And shall it to the Potter say, 130 
What makest thou? Thou hast no 

hand ? 
As men who think to understand 
A world by their Creator planned, 
Who wiser is than they. 

Still guided by the dreamy song, 
As in a trance I float along 



Above the Pyrenean chain, 
Above the fields and farms of Spain, 
Above the bright Majorcan isle 
That lends its softened name to art, — 
A spot, a dot upon the chart, 141 

Whose little towns, red-roofed with 

tile, 
Are ruby-lustred with the light 
Of blazing furnaces by night, 
And crowned by day with wreaths of 

smoke. 
Then eastward, wafted in my flight 
On my enchanter's magic cloak, 
I sail across the Tyrrhene Sea 
Into the land of Italy, 
And o'er the windy Apennines, 150 
Mantled and musical with pines. 

The palaces, the princely halls, 
The doors of houses and the walls 
Of churches and of belfry towers, 
Cloister and castle, street and mart, 
Are garlanded and gay with flow 

ers 
That blossom in the fields of art. 




What land is this ? You pretty town 
Is Delft" 



43° 



K&RAMOS 



Here Gubbio's workshops gleam and 

glow 
With brilliant, iridescent dyes, 159 
The dazzling whiteness of the snow, 
The cobalt blue of summer skies ; 



About some landscape, shaded brown, 
With olive tints on rock and town. 

Behold this cup within whose bowl, 
Upon a ground of deepest blue 181 




Cana, the Beautiful ! ' 



And vase and scutcheon, cup and 

plate, 
In perfect finish emulate 
Faenza, Florence, Pesaro. 

Forth from Urbino's gate there came 
A youth with the angelic name 
Of Raphael, in form and face 
Himself angelic, and divine 
In arts of color and design. 
From him Francesco Xanto caught 170 
Something of his transcendent grace, 
And into fictile fabrics wrought 
Suggestions of the master's thought. 
Nor less Maestro Giorgio shines 
With madre-perl and golden lines 
Of arabesques, and interweaves 
His birds and fruits and flowers and 
leaves 



With yellow -lustred stars o'erlaid, 
Colors of every tint and hue 
Mingle in one harmonious whole ! 
With large blue eyes and steadfast 

gaze, 
Her yellow hair in net and braid, 
Necklace and ear-rings all ablaze 
With golden lustre o'er the glaze, 
A woman's portrait ; on the scroll, 
Cana, the Beautiful ! A name 190 

Forgotten save for such brief fame 
As this memorial can bestow, — 
A gift some lover long ago 
Gave with his heart to this fair dame. 

A nobler title to renown 
Is thine, O pleasant Tuscan town, 
Seated beside the Arno's stream ; 
For Luca della Robbia there 



KERAMOS 



431 



Created forms so wondrous fair, 199 
They made thy sovereignty supreme. 
These choristers with lips of stone, 
Whose music is not heard, but seen, 
Still chant, as from their organ-screen, 
Their Maker's praise ; nor these alone, 
But the more fragile forms of clay, 
Hardly less beautiful than they, 
These saints and angels that adorn 
The walls of hospitals, and tell 
The story of good deeds so well 
That poverty seems less forlorn, 210 
And life more like a holiday. 

Here in this old neglected church, 
That long eludes the traveller's search, 
Lies the dead bishop on his tomb ; 
Earth upon earth he slumbering lies, 
Life-like and death-like in the gloom ; 
Garlands of fruit and flowers in bloom 
And foliage deck his resting-place ; 
A shadow in the sightless eyes, 
A pallor on the patient face, 220 

Made perfect by the furnace heat ; 
All earthly passions and desires 
Burnt out by purgatorial fires; 
Seeming to say, " Our years are fleet, 
And to the weary death is sweet." 

But the most wonderful of all 

The ornaments on tomb or wall 

That grace the fair Ausonian shores 

Are those the faithful earth restores, 

Near some Apulian town concealed, 230 

In vineyard or in harvest field, — 

Vases and urns and bas-reliefs, 

Memorials of forgotten griefs, 

Or records of heroic deeds 

Of demigods and mighty chiefs: 

Figures that almost move and speak, 

And, buried amid mould and weeds, 

Still in their attitudes attest 

The presence of the graceful Greek, — 

Achilles in his armor dressed, 240 

Alcides with the Cretan bull, 

And Aphrodite with her boy, 

Or lovely Helena of Troy, 

Still living and still beautiful. 



Turn, turn, my wheel ! 'Tis nature's 

plan 
The child should grow into the man, 
The man grow wrinkled, old, and 



In youth the heart exults and sings, 
The pulses leap, the feet have wings ; 249 



In age the cricket chirps, and brings 
The harvest-home of day. 

And now the winds that southward 

blow, 
And cool the hot Sicilian isle, 
Bear me away. I see below 
The long line of the Libyan Nile, 
Flooding and feeding the parched 

lands 
With annual ebb and overflow, 
A fallen palm whose branches lie 
Beneath the Abyssinian sky, 
Whose roots are in Egj^ptian sands. 260 
On either bank huge water-wheels, 
Belted with jars and dripping weeds, 
Send forth their melancholy moans, 
As if, in their gray mantles hid, 
Dead anchorites of the Thebaid 
Knelt on the shore and told their beads, 
Beating their breasts with loud appeals 
And penitential tears and groans. 

This city, walled and thickly set 269 
With glittering mosque and minaret, 
Is Cairo, in whose gay bazaars 
The dreaming traveller first inhales 
The perfume of Arabian gales, 
And sees the fabulous earthen jars, 
Huge as were those wherein the maid 
Morgiana found the Forty Thieves 
Concealed in midnight ambuscade; 
And seeing, more than half believes 
The fascinating tales that run 
Through all the Thousand Nights and 
One, 280 

Told by the fair Scheherezade. 

More strange and wonderful than these 
Are the Egyptian deities, 
Ammon, and Emeth, and the grand 
Osiris, holding in his hand 
The lotus ; Isis, crowned and veiled ; 
The sacred Ibis, and the Sphinx; 
Bracelets with blue enamelled links ; 
The Scarabee in emerald mailed, 
Or spreading wide his funeral wings ; 
Lamps that perchance their night- 
watch kept " 291 
O'er Cleopatra while she slept, — 
All plundered from the tombs of kings. 

Turn, turn, my wheel! The human 

race, 
Of every tongue, of every place, 
Caucasian, Coptic, or Malay, 



432 



KfiRAMOS 



All that inhabit this great earth, 
Whatever be their rank or worth, 
Are kindred and allied by birth, 

And made of the same clay. 300 

O'er desert sands, o'er gulf and bay, 
O'er Ganges and o'er Himalay, 
Bird-like I fly, and flying sing, 
To flowery kingdoms of Cathay, 
And bird-like poise on balanced wing 
Above the town of King-te-tching, 
A burning town, or seeming so, — 
Three thousand furnaces that glow 
Incessantly, and fill the air 309 

With smoke uprising, gyre on gyre 
And painted by the lurid glare, 
Of jets and flashes of red fire. 

As leaves that in the autumn fall, 
Spotted and veined with various hues, 
Are swept along the avenues, 
And lie in heaps by hedge and wall, 
So from this grove of chimneys whirled 
To all the markets of the world, 



These porcelain leaves are wafted on, 
Light yellow leaves with spots and 
stains 320 

Of violet and of crimson dye, 
Or tender azure of a sky 
Just washed by gentle April rains, 
And beautiful with celadon. 

Nor less the coarser household wares, 
The willow pattern, that we knew 
In childhood, with its bridge of blue 
Leading to unknown thoroughfares ; 
The solitary man who stares 
At the white river flowing through 330 
Its arches, the fantastic trees 
And wild perspective of the view ; 
And intermingled among these 
The tiles that in our nurseries 
Filled us with wonder and delight, 
Or haunted us in dreams at night. 

And yonder by Nankin, behold ! 
The Tower of Porcelain, strange and 
old, 




The snow on Fusiyama's cone 



k£ramos 



433 



Uplifting to the astonished skies 
Its ninefold painted balconies, 340 

With balustrades of twining leaves, 
And roofs of tile, beneath whose eaves 
Hang porcelain bells that all the time 
Ring with a soft, melodious chime ; 
While the whole fabric is ablaze 
With varied tints, all fused in one 
Great mass of color, like a maze 
Of flowers illumined by the sun. 

Turn, turn, my wheel ! What is begun 
At daybreak must at dark be done, 

To-morrow will be another day ; 
To-morrow the hot furnace flame 
Will search the heart and try the frame, 
And stamp with honor or with shame 

TJiese vessels made of clay. 

Cradled and rocked in Eastern seas, 

The islands of the Japanese 

Beneath me lie ; o'er lake and plain 

The stork, the heron, and the crane 

Through the clear realms of azure 
drift, 360 

And on the hillside I can see 

The villages of Imari, 

Whose thronged and flaming work- 
shops lift 

Their twisted columns of smoke on 
high, 

Cloud cloisters that in ruins lie. 

With sunshine streaming through each 
rift, 

And broken arches of blue sky. 

All the bright flowers that fill the 

land, 
Ripple of waves on rock or sand, 
The snow on Fusiyama's cone, 370 

The midnight heaven so thickly sown 
With constellations of bright stars, 
The leaves that rustle, the reeds that 

make 
A whisper by each stream and lake, 
The saffron dawn, the sunset red, 
Are painted on these lovely jars ; 
Again the skylark sings, again 



The stork, the heron, and the crane 
Float through the azure overhead, 
The counterfeit and counterpart 380 
Of Nature reproduced in Art. 

Art is the child of .Nature ; yes, 
Her darling child, in whom we trace 
The features of the mother's face, 
Her aspect and her attitude ; 
All her majestic loveliness 
Chastened and softened and subdued 
Into a more attractive grace, 
And with a human sense imbued. 

He is the greatest artist, then, 390 

Whether of pencil or of pen, 

Who follows Nature. Never man, 

As artist or as artisan. 

Pursuing his own fantasies, 

Can touch the human heart, or please, 

Or satisfy our nobler needs, 

As he who sets his willing feet 397 

In Nature's footprints, light and fleet, 

And follows fearless where she leads. 

Thus mused I on that morn in May, 
Wrapped in my visions like the Seer, 
Whose eyes behold not what is near, 
But only what is far away, 
When, suddenly sounding peal on peal, 
The church-bell from the neighboring 

town 
Proclaimed the welcome hour of noon. 
The Potter heard, and stopped his 

wheel, 
His apron on the grass threw dow T n, 
Whistled his quiet little tune, 
Not overloud nor overlong, 410 

And ended thus his simple song : 

Stop, stop, my wheel! Too soon, too 

soon 
The noon will be the afternoon, 

Too soon to-day be yesterday; 
Behind us in our path we cast 
The broken potsherds of the past, 
And all are ground to dust at last, 

And trodden into clay ! 




^ Ayi .jM»--' ^;"wv* 






Elmwood 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 

FLIGHT THE FIFTH 



THE HERONS OF ELMWOOD 

Wakm and still is the summer night, 
As here by the river's brink I wan- 
der ; 
White overhead are the stars, and 
• white 
The glimmering lamps on the hill- 
side yonder. 

Silent are all the sounds of day ; 
Nothing I hear but the chirp of 
crickets, 
And the cry of the herons winging 
their way 
O'er the poet's house in the Elm- 
wood thickets. 



Call to him, herons, as slowly you 
pass 
To your roosts in the haunts of the 
exiled thrushes, 
Sing him the song of the green mo- 
• rass, 
And the tides that water the reeds 
and rushes. 

Sing him the mystical Song of the 
Hern, 
And the secret that baffles our ut- 
most seeking ; 
For only a sound of lament we dis- 
cern, 
And cannot interpret the words you 
are speaking. 



A DUTCH PICTURE 



435 



Sing of the air, and the wild delight 
Of wings that uplift and winds that 
uphold you, 
The joy of freedom, the rapture of 
flight 
Through the drift of the floating 
mists that infold you ; 

Of the landscape lying so far below, 
With its towns and rivers and des- 
ert places ; 
And the splendor of light above, and 
the glow 
Of the limitless, blue, ethereal 
spaces. 

Ask him if songs of the Troubadours, 
Or of Minnesingers, in old black- 
letter, 
Sound in his ears more sweet than 
yours, 
And if yours are not sweeter and 
wilder and better. 

Sing to him, say to him, here at his 
gate, 
Where the boughs of the stately 
elms are meeting, 
Some one hath lingered to meditate, 
And send him unseen this friendly 
greeting ; 

That many another hath done the 
same, 
Though not by a sound was the si- 
lence broken ; 
The surest pledge of a deathless name 
Is the silent homage of thoughts un- 
spoken. 



A DUTCH PICTURE 

Simon Danz has come home again, 
From cruising about with his buc- 
caneers ; 
He has singed the beard of the King 

of Spain, 
And carried away the Dean of Jaen 
And sold him in Algiers. 

In his house by the Maese, with its 

roof of tiles, 
And weathercocks flying aloft in air, 
There are silver tankards of antique 

styles, 



Plunder of convent and castle, and 
piles 
Of carpets rich and rare. 10 

In his tulip-garden there by the town, 
Overlooking the sluggish stream, 

With his Moorish cap and dressing- 
gown, 

The old sea-captain, hale and brown, 
Walks in a waking dream. 

A smile in his gray mustachio lurks 
Whenever he thinks of the King of 
Spain, 
And the listed tulips look like Turks, 
And the silent gardeuer as he works 
Is changed to the Dean of Jaen. 20 

The windmills on the outermost 

Verge of the landscape in the haze, 
To him are towers on the Spanish 

coast, 
With whiskered sentinels at their 
post, 
Though this is the river Maese. 

But when the winter rains begin, 
He sits and smokes by the blazing 
brands, 
And old seafaring men come in, 
Goat-bearded, gray, and with double 
chin, 
And rings upon their hands. 30 

They sit there in the shadow and 
shine 
Of the flickering fire of the winter 
night ; 
Figures in color and design 
Like those by Rembrandt of the 
Rhine, 
Half darkness and half light. 

And they talk of ventures lost or 
won, 
And their talk is ever and ever the 
same, 
While they drink the red wine of Tar- 
ragon, 
From the cellars of some Spanish 
Don, 
Or convent set on flame. 40 

Restless at times with heavy strides 

He paces his parlor to and fro ; 
He is like a ship that at anchor rides, 



436 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



And swings with the rising and falling 
tides, 
And tugs at her anchor-tow. 

Voices mysterious far and near, 
Sound of the wind and sound of the 
sea, 
Are calling and whispering in his ear, 
' ' Simon Danz ! Why stayest thou 
here? 
Come forth and follow me ! " 50 

So he thinks he shall take to the sea 
again 
For one more cruise with his buc- 
caneers, 
To singe the beard of the King of Spain, 
And capture another Dean of Jaen 
And sell him in Algiers. 



CASTLES IN SPAIN 

How much of my young heart, O 
Spain, 

Went out to thee in days of yore! 
What dreams romantic filled my brain, 
And summoned back to life again 
The Paladins of Charlemagne, 

The Cid Campeador ! 

And shapes more shadowy than these, 

In the dim twilight half revealed ; 
Phoenician galleys on the seas, 
The Roman camps like hives of bees, 10 
The Goth uplifting from his knees 
Pelayo on his shield. 

It was these memories perchance, 

From annals of remotest eld, 
That lent the colors of romance 
To every trivial circumstance, 
And changed the form and counte- 
nance 
Of all that I beheld. 

Old towns, whose history lies hid 
In monkish chronicle or rhyme, — 

Burgos, the birthplace of the Cid, 21 

Zamora and Valladolid, 

Toledo, built and walled amid 
The wars of Wamba's time ; 

The long, straight line of the highway, 
The distant town that seems so near, 
The peasants in the fields, that stay 



Their toil to cross themselves and pray, 
When from the belfry at midday 
The Angel us they hear ; 30 

White crosses in the mountain pass, 

Mules gay with tassels, the loud din 
Of muleteers, the tethered ass 
That crops the dusty wayside grass, 
And cavaliers with spurs of brass 
Alighting at the inn ; 

White hamlets hidden in fields of 
wheat, 
White cities slumbering by the sea, 
White sunshine flooding square and 
street, 39 

Dark mountain ranges, at whose feet 
The river beds are dry with heat, — 
All was a dream to me. 

Yet something sombre and severe 
O'er the enchanted landscape 
reigned; 

A terror in the atmosphere 

As if King Philip listened near, 

Or Torquemada, the austere, 
His ghostly sway maintained. 

The softer Andalusian skies 

Dispelled the sadness and the 
gloom ; 50 

There Cadiz by the seaside lies, 
And Seville's orange-orchards rise, 
Making the land a paradise 

Of beauty and of bloom. 

There Cordova is hidden among 

The palm, the olive, and the vine ; 
Gem of the South, by poets sung, 
And in whose mosque Almanzor hung 
As lamps the bells that once had 
rung 
At Compostella's shrine. 6© 

But over all the rest supreme, 
The star of stars, the cynosure, 

The artist's and the poet's theme, 

The young man's vision, the old man's 
dream, — 

Granada by its winding stream, 
The city of the Moor! 

And there the Alhambra still recalls 

Aladdin's palace of delight: 
Allah il Allah ! through its halls 
Whispers the fountain as it falls, 70 



VITTORIA COLONNA 



437 



The Darro darts beneath its walls, 
The hills with snow are white. 

Ah yes, the hills are white with snow, 
And cold with blasts that bite and 
freeze ; 
But in the happy vale below 
The orange and pomegranate grow, 
And wafts of air toss to and fro 
The blossoming almond trees. 

The Vega cleft by the Xenil, 
The fascination and allure 80 

Of the sweet landscape chains the will ; 

The traveller lingers on the hill, 

His parted lips are breathing still 
The last siffh of the Moor. 



How like a ruin overgrown 
With flowers that hide the rents of 
time, 
Stands now the Past that I have 

known ; 
Castles in Spain, not built of stone 
But of white summer clouds,and blown 
Into this little mist of rhyme ! 90 

VITTORIA COLONNA 

Vittoria Colonna, on the death of her husband 
the Marchese di Pescara, retired to her castle at 
Ischia (Inarim6), and there wrote the Ode upon 
his death which gained her the title of Divine. 

Once more, once more, Inarime, 
I see thy purple halls! — once more 




..." thy castle stands, 
A mouldering landmark of the Past " 



43« 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



I hear the billows of the bay 
Wash the white pebbles on thy 
shore. 

High o'er the sea-surge and the sands, 
Like a great galleon wrecked and 
cast 
Ashore by storms, thy castle stands, 
A mouldering landmark of the 
Past. 

Upon its terrace -walk I see 

A phantom gliding to and fro ; 10 
It is Colonna, — it is she 

Who lived and loved so long ago. 

Pescara's beautiful young wife, 
The type of perfect womanhood, 

Whose life was love, the life of life, 
That time and change and death 
withstood. 

For death, that breaks the marriage 
band 
In others, only closer pressed 
The wedding-ring upon her hand 
And closer locked and barred her 
breast. 20 

She knew the life-long martyrdom, 
The weariness, the endless pain 

Of waiting for some one to come 
Who nevermore would come again. 

The shadows of the chestnut trees, 
The odor of the orange blooms, 

The song of birds, and, more than 
these, 
The silence of deserted rooms ; 

The respiration of the sea, 

The soft caresses of the air, 30 

All things in nature seemed to be 

But ministers of her despair ; 

Till the o'erburdened heart, so long 
Imprisoned in itself, found vent 

And voice in one impassioned song 
Of inconsolable lament. 

Then as the sun, though hidden from 

sight, 

Transmutes to gold the leaden mist, 

Her life was interfused with light, 

From realms that, though unseen, 

exist. 40 



Inarime ! Inarime ! 

Thy castle on the crags above 
In dust shall crumble and decay, 

But not the memory of her love. 



THE REVENGE OF RAIN-IN- 
THE-FACE 

In that desolate land and lone, 
Where the Big Horn and Yellow- 
stone 

Roar down their mountain path, 
By their fires the Sioux Chiefs 
Muttered their woes and griefs 

And the menace of their wrath. 

"Revenge!" cried Rain-in-the-Face, 
' ' Revenge upon all the race 

Of the White Chief with yellow 
hair!" 
And the mountains dark and high 10 
From their crags reechoed the cry 

Of his anger and despair. 

In the meadow, spreading wide 
By woodland and river-side 

The Indian village stood ; 
All was silent as a dream, 
Save the rushing of the stream 

And the blue- jay in the wood. 

In his war paint and his beads, 

Like a bison among the reeds, 20 

In ambush the Sitting Bull 
Lay with three thousand braves 
Crouched in the clefts and caves, 

Savage, unmerciful ! 

Into the fatal snare 

The White Chief with yellow hair 

And his three hundred men 
Dashed headlong, sword in hand ; 
But of that gallant band 

Not one returned again. 3 o 

The sudden darkness of death 
Overwhelmed them like the breath 

And smoke of a furnace fire : 
By the river's bank, and between 
The rocks of the ravine, 

They lay in their bloody attire. 

But the foemen fled in the night, 
And Rain-in-the-Face, in his flight, 
Uplifted high in air 



A BATTLE OF THE FRENCH FLEET 



439 



As a ghastly trophy, bore 40 

The brave heart, that beat no more, 
Of the White Chief with yellow 
hair. 

Whose was the right and the wrong ? 
Sing it, O funeral song, 

With a voice that is full of tears, 
And say that our broken faith 
Wrought all this ruin and scathe, 

In the Year of a Hundred Years. 



TO THE RIVER YVETTE 

O lovely river of Yvette ! 

O darling river ! like a bride, 
Some dimpled, bashful, fair Lisette, 

Thou goest to wed the Orge's tide. 

Maincourt, and lordly Dampierre, 
See and salute thee on thy way, 

And, with a blessing and a prayer, 
Ring the sweet bells of St. Forget. 

The valley of Chevreuse in vain 
Would hold thee in its fond em- 
brace ; 

Thou glidest from its arms again 
And hurriest on with swifter pace. 

Thou wilt not stay ; with restless 
feet, 

Pursuing still thine onward flight, 
Thou goest as one in haste to meet 

Her sole desire, her heart's delight. 

O lovely river of Yvette ! 

O darling stream! on balanced 
wings 
The wood-birds sang the chansonnette 

That here a wandering poet sings. 



THE EMPEROR'S GLOVE 

" Combien faudrait-il de peaux d'Espagne pour 
faire un gant de cette grandeur ? " A play upon 
the words gant, a glove, and Gand, the French 
for Ghent. 

On St. Bavon's tower, commanding 
Half of Flanders, his domain, 

Charles the Emperor once was stand- 
ing, 

While beneath him on the landing 
Stood Duke Alva and his train. 



Like a print in books of fables, 

Or a model made for show, 
With its pointed roofs and gables, 
Dormer windows, scrolls and labels, 
Lay the city far below. 

Through its squares and streets and 
alleys 

Poured the populace of Ghent ; 
As a routed army rallies, 
Or as rivers run through valleys, 

Hurrying to their homes they went. 

" Nest of Lutheran misbelievers ! " 

Cried Duke Alva as he gazed ; 
1 ' Haunt of traitors and deceivers, 
Stronghold of insurgent weavers, 
Let it to the ground be razed ! " 

On the Emperor's cap the feather 

Nods, as laughing he replies : 
" How many skins of Spanish leather, 
Think you, would, if stitched to- 
gether, 
Make a glove of such a size? " 



A BALLAD OF THE FRENCH 
FLEET 

October, 1746 

Mr. Thomas Prince loquitur 

A fleet with flags arrayed 

Sailed from the port of Brest, 
And the Admiral's ship displayed 

The signal : '• Steer southwest." 
For this Admiral D'Anville 

Had sworn by cross and crown 
To ravage with fire and steel 

Our helpless Boston Town. 

There were rumors in the street, 

In the houses there was fear 1 

Of the coming of the fleet, 

And the danger hovering near. 
And while from mouth to mouth 

Spread the tidings of dismay, 
I stood in the Old South, 

Saying humbly : ' ' Let us pray ! 

' ' O Lord ! we would not advise ; 

But if in thy Providence 
A tempest should arise 

To drive the French Fleet hence, 2 



44© 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



And scatter it far and wide, 

Or sink it in the sea, 
We should be satisfied, 

And thine the glory be." 

This was the prayer I made, 

For my soul was all on flame, 
' And even as I prayed 

The answering tempest came ; 
It came with a mighty power, 

Shaking the windows and walls, 30 
And tolling the bell in the tower, 

As it tolls at funerals. 

The lightning suddenly 

Unsheathed its flaming sword, 
And I cried: " Stand still, and see 

The salvation of the Lord ! " 
The heavens were black with cloud, 

The sea was white with hail, 
And ever more fierce and loud 

Blew the October gale. 40 

The fleet it overtook, 

And the broad sails in the van 
Like the tents of Cushan shook, 

£>r the curtains of Midian. 
Down on the peeling decks 

Crashed the o'erwhelming seas ; 
Ah, never were there wrecks 

So pitiful as these ! 

Like a potter's vessel broke 

The great ships of the line ; 50 

They were carried away as a smoke, 

Or sank like lead in the brine. 
O Lord ! before thy path 

They vanished and ceased to be, 
When thou didst walk in wrath 

With thine horses through the sea ! 



THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG 

Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet, 
His chestnut steed with four white 
feet, 

Roushan Beg, called Kurroglou, 
Son of the road and bandit chief, 
Seeking refuge and relief, 

Up the mountain pathway flew. 

Such was Kyrat's wondrous speed, 
Never yet could any steed 



Reach the dust-cloud in his course. 
More than maiden, more than wife, 10 
More than gold and next to life 

Roushan the Robber loved his 
horse. 

In the land that lies beyond 
Erzeroum and Trebizond, 

Garden-girt his fortress stood ; 
Plundered khan, or caravan 
Journeying north from Koordistan, 

Gave him wealth and wine and 
food. 

Seven hundred and fourscore 

Men at arms his livery wore, 20 

Did his bidding night and day ; 
Now, through regions all unknown, 
He was wandering, lost, alone, 

Seeking without guide his way. 

Suddenly the pathway ends, 
Sheer the precipice descends, 

Loud the torrent roars unseen ; 
Thirty feet from side to side 
Yawns the chasm ; on air must ride 

He who crosses this ravine. 30 

Following close in his pursuit, 
At the precipice's foot 

Reyhan the Arab of Orfah 
Halted with his hundred men, 
Shouting upward from the glen, 

"Lalllah ilia Allah!" 

Gently Roushan Beg caressed 
Kyrat's forehead, neck, and breast ; 

Kissed him upon both his eyes, 
Sang to him in his wild way, 40 

As upon the topmost spray 

Sings a bird before it flies. 

"O my Kyrat, O my steed, 
Round and slender as a reed, 

Carry me this peril through ! 
Satin housings shall be thine, 
Shoes of gold, O Kyrat mine, 

O thou soul of Kurroglou ! 

" Soft thy skin as silken skein, 

Soft as woman's hair thy mane, 50 

Tender are thine eyes and true ; 
All thy hoofs like ivory shine, 
Polished bright ; O life of mine, 

Leap, and rescue Kurroglou ! " 



HAROUN AL RASCHID 



441 




Careless sat he and upright ; 
Neither hand nor bridle shook " 



Kyrat, then, the strong and fleet, 
Drew together his four white feet, 

Paused a moment on the verge, 
Measured with his eye the space, 
And into the air's embrace 

Leaped as leaps the ocean surge. 

As the ocean surge O'er sand 
Bears a swimmer safe to land, 

Kyrat safe his rider bore ; 
Rattling down the deep abyss 
Fragments of the precipice 

Rolled like pebbles on the shore. 

Roushan's tasselled cap of red 
Trembled not upon his head, 
Careless sat he and upright ; 



Neither hand nor bridle shook, 
Nor his head he' turned to look, 
As he galloped out of sight. 

Flash of harness in the air, 
Seen a moment like the glare 

Of a sword drawn from its sheath ; 
Thus the phantom horseman passed, 
And the shadow that he cast 

Leaped the cataract underneath. 

Reyhan the Arab held his breath 
While this vision of life and death t 

Passed above him. " Allahu ! " 
Cried he^ "In all Koordistan 
Lives there not so brave a man 

As this Robber Kurroglou ! " 



442 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



HAROUN AL RASCHID 

One day, Haroun Al Raschid read 
A book wherein the poet said: — 

' ' Where are the kings, and where the 
rest 

Of those who once the world pos- 
sessed? 

' ' They 're gone with all their pomp 

and show, 
They 're gone the way that thou shalt 

go. 

" O thou who choosest for thy share 
The world, and what the world calls 
fair, 

"Take all that it can give or lend, 
But know that death is at the end ! " 

Haroun Al Raschid bowed his head : 
Tears fell upon the page he read. 



KING TRISANKU 

Viswamitra the Magician, 
By his spells and incantations, 

Up to Indra's realms elysian 
Raised Trisanku, king of nations. 

Indra and the gods offended 

Hurled him downward, and descend- 
ing 
In the air he hung suspended, 
With these equal powers contend- 
ing. 

Thus by aspirations lifted, 
By misgivings downward driven, 

Human hearts are tossed and drifted 
Midway between earth and heaven. 



A WRAITH IN THE MIST 

" Sir, I should build me a fortification, if I 
came to live here." — Boswell's Johnson. 

On the green little isle of Inchken 
neth, 
Who is it that walks by the shore, 
So gay with his Highland blue.bonnet, 
So brave with his targe and clay- 
more ? 



His form is the form of a giant, 

But his face wears an aspect of pain ; 

Can this be the Laird of Inchkenneth ? 
Carl this be Sir Allan McLean ? 

Ah, no ! It is only the Rambler, 

The Idler, who lives in Bolt Court, 
And who says, were he Laird of Inch- 
kenneth, 
He would wall himself round with 
a fort. 



THE THREE KINGS 

Three Kings came riding from far 
away, 
Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar; 
Three Wise Men out of the East were 

they, 
And they travelled by night and they 
slept by day, 
For their guide was a beautiful, 
wonderful star. 

The star was so beautiful, large, and 
clear, 
That all the other stars of the sky 
Became a white mist in the atmos- 
phere, 
And by this they knew that the coming 
was near 
Of the Prince foretold in the pro- 
phecy. IO 

Three caskets they bore on their sad- 
dlebows, 
Three caskets of gold with golden 
keys ; 

Their robes were of crimson silk with 
rows 

Of bells and pomegranates and furbe- 
lows, 
Their turbans like blossoming al- 
mond-trees. 

And so the Three Kings rode into the 

West. 
Through the dusk of night, over hill 

and dell, 
And sometimes they nodded with beard 

on breast, 
And sometimes talked, as they paused 

to rest, 
With the people they met at some 

wayside well. 20 



SONG 



443 



" Of the child that is born," said Bal- 
tasar, 
"Good people, I pray you, tell us 
the news ; 
For we in the East have seen his star, 
And have ridden fast, and have ridden 
far, 
To find and worship the King of the 
Jews." 

And- the people answered, "You ask 

in vain ; 
We know of no king but Herod the 

Great!" 
They thought the Wise Men were men 

insane, 
As they spurred their horses across the 

plain. 
Like riders in haste, and who cannot 

wait. 30 

And when they came to Jerusalem, 
Herod the Great, who had heard 
this thing, 
Sent for the Wise Men and questioned 

them ; 
And said, " Go down unto Bethlehem, 
And bring me tidings of this new 
king." 

So they rode away ; and the star stood 
still, 
The only one in the gray of morn ; 
Yes, it stopped, — it stood still of its 

own free will, 
Right over Bethlehem on the hill, 
The city of David, where Christ 
was born. 40 

And the Three Kings rode through the 
gate and the guard, 
Through the silent street, till their 
horses turned 
And neighed as they entered the great 

inn yard ; 
But the windows were closed, and the 
doors were barred, 
And only a light in the stable burned. 

And cradled there in the scented hay, 
In the air made sweet by the breath 
of kine, 
The little child in the manger lay, 
The child, that would be king one 
day 
Of a kingdom not human but divine. 



His mother Mary of Nazareth 51 

Sat watching beside his place of 

rest, 

Watching the even flow of his breath, 

For the joy of life and the terror of 

death 

Were mingled together in her breast. 

They laid their offerings at his feet: 
The gold was their tribute to a 
King, 
The frankincense, with its odor sweet, 
Was for the Priest, the Paraclete, 
The myrrh for the body's bury- 
ing. *6o 

And the mother wondered and bowed 
her head, 
And sat as still as a statue of 
stone ; 

Her heart was troubled yet com- 
forted, 

Remembering what the Angel had 
said 
Of an endless reign and of David's 
throne. 

Then the Kings rode out of the city 
gate, 
With a clatter of hoofs in proud 
array ; 

But they went not back to Herod the 
Great, 

For they knew his malice and feared 
his hate, 
And returned to their homes by an- 
other way. 70 



SONG 

Stay, stay at home, my heart, and 

rest; 
Home-keeping hearts are happiest, 
For those that wander they know not 

where 
Are full of trouble and full of care ; 
To stay at home is best. 

Weary and homesick and distressed, 
They wander east, they wander west, 
And" are baffled and beaten and blown 

about 
By the .winds of the wilderness of 

doubt ; 
To stay at home is best. 



444 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



Then stay at home, my heart, and 

rest; 
The bird is safest in its nest ; 
O'er all that nutter their wings and 

fly 

A hawk is hovering in the sky ; 
To stay at home is best. 



THE WHITE CZAR 

The White Czar is Peter the Great. Batyush- 
ka, Father dear, and Gosudar, Sovereign, are 
titles the Russian people are fond of giving to the 
Czar in their popular songs. 

Dost thou see on the rampart's height 
That wreath of mist, in the light 
Of the midnight moon ? Oh, hist ! 
It is not a wreath of mist ; 
It is the Czar, the White Czar, 
Batyushka ! Gosudar ! 

He has heard, among the dead, 
The artillery roll o'erhead ; 
The drums and the tramp of feet 
Of his soldiery in the street ; xo 

He is awake ! the White Czar, 
Batyushka ! Gosudar ! 

He has heard in the grave the cries 
Of his people : " Awake ! arise ! " 
He has rent the gold brocade 
Whereof his shroud was made ; 
He is risen ! the White Czar, 
Batyushka ! Gosudar ! 

From the Yolga and the Don 
He has led his armies on, 20 

Over river and morass, 
Over desert and mountain pass; 
The Czar, the Orthodox Czar, 
Batyushka ! Gosudar 1 



He looks from the mountain-chain 
Toward the seas, that cleave in twain 
The continents ; his hand 
Points southward o'er the land 
OfRoumili! O Czar, ' 

Batyushka ! Gosudar ! 30 

And the words break from his lips : 
"I am the builder of ships, 
And my ships shall sail these seas 
To the Pillars of Hercules ! 
I say it ; the White Czar, 
Batyushka ! Gosudar ! 

" The Bosphorus shall be free ; 
It shall make room for me ; 
And the gates of its water-streets 
Be unbarred before my fleets. 40 

I say it ; the White Czar, 
Batyushka ! Gosudar ! 

' ' And the Christian shall no more 
Be crushed, as heretofore, 
Beneath thine iron rule, 

Sultan of Istamboul ! 

1 swear it I I the Czar, 

Batyushka ! Gosudar ! " 



DELIA 

Sweet as the tender fragrance that 

survives, 
When martyred flowers breathe out 

their little lives, 
Sweet as a song that once consoled 

our pain, 
But never will be sung to us again, 
Is thy remembrance. Now the hour 

of rest 
Hath come to thee. Sleep, darling ■ 

it is best. 





" Dark is the morning with mist ; in the narrow mouth of the harbor " (See p. 450.) 



ULTIMA THULE 



DEDICATION 



POEMS 



TO G. W. G. 

With favoring winds, o'er sunlit seas, 
We sailed for the Hesperides, 
The land where golden apples grow ; 
But that, ah ! that was long ago. 

How far since then the ocean streams 
Have swept us from that land of 

dreams, 
That land of fiction and of truth, 
The lost Atlantis of our youth ! 

Whither, ah, whither ? Are not these 
The tempest-haunted Orcades, 
Where sea-gulls scream, and breakers 

roar, 
And wreck and sea-weed line the 

shore ? 

Ultima Thule ! Utmost Isle ! 

Here in thy harbors for a while 

We lower our sails; a while we 

rest 
From the unending, endless quest. 



BAYARD TAYLOR 

Dead he lay among his books ! 
The peace of God was in his looks. 

As the statues in the gloom 
Watch o'er Maximilian's tomb, 

So those volumes from their shelves 
Watched him, silent as themselves. 

Ah ! his hand will nevermore 
Turn their storied pages o'er ; 

Nevermore his lips repeat 
Songs of theirs, however sweet. 

Let the lifeless body rest ! 

He is gone, who was its guest ; 

Gone, as travellers haste to leave 
An inn, nor tarry until eve. 

Traveller! in what realms afar, 
In what planet, in what star, 



446 



ULTIMA THULE 



In what vast, aerial space, 
Shines the light upon thy face, 

In what gardens of delight 
Rest thy weary feet to-night ? 

Poet ! thou, whose latest verse 
Was a garland on thy hearse ; 

Thou hast sung, with organ tone, 
In Deukalion's life, thine own ; 

On the ruins of the Past 
Blooms the perfect flower at last. 

Friend ! but yesterday the bells 
Rang for thee their loud farewells ; 

And to-day they toll for thee, 
Lying dead beyond the sea ; 

Lying dead among thy books, 
The peace of God in all thy looks ! 



THE CHAMBER OVER THE 
GATE 

Is it so far from thee 
Thou canst no longer see, 
In the Chamber over the Gate, 
That old man desolate, 
Weeping and wailing sore 
For his son, who is no more ? 
O Absalom, my son ! 

Is it so long ago 
That cry of human woe 
From the walled city came, i 

Calling on his dear name, 
That it has died away 
In the distance of to-day ? 
O Absalom, my son ! 

There is no far or near, 
There is neither there nor here, 
There is neither soon nor late, 
In that Chamber over the Gate 
Nor any long ago 
To that cry of human woe, 2 

O Absalom, my son! 

From the ages that are past 
The voice sounds like a blast, 
Over seas that wreck and drown, 
Over tumult of traffic and town ; 



And from ages yet to be 
Come the echoes back to me, 
O Absalom, my son ! 

Somewhere at every hour 
The watchman on the tower 30 

Looks forth, and sees the fleet 
Approach of the hurrying feet 
Of messengers, that bear 
The tidings of despair. 
O Absalom, my son ! 

He goes forth from the door, 
Who shall return no more. 
With him our joy departs ; 
The light goes out in our hearts ; 
In the Chamber over the Gate 40 
We sit disconsolate. 
O Absalom, my son ! 

That 't is a common grief 
Bringeth but slight relief; 
Ours is the bitterest loss, 
Ours is the heaviest cross ; 
And forever the cry will be 
Would God I had died for thee, 
O Absalom, my son ! " 



FROM MY ARM-CHAIR 

TO THE CHILDREN OP CAMBRIDGE 

WHO PRESENTED TO ME, ON MY SEVENTY- 
SECOND BIRTHDAY, FEBRUARY 27, 1879, 
THIS CHAIR MADE FROM THE WOOD OF 
THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH'S CHESTNUT 
TREE 

Am I a king, that I should call my own 
This splendid ebon throne ? 

Or by what reason, or what right di- 
vine, 
Can I proclaim it mine? 

Only, perhaps, by right divine of 
song 
It may to me belong ; 
Only because the spreading chestnut 
tree 
Of old was sung by me. 

Well I remember it in all its prime, 
When in the summer-time 10 

The affluent foliage of its branches 
made 
A cavern of cool shade. 



FROM MY ARM-CHAIR 



447 



There, by the blacksmith's forge, be- 
side the street, 

Its blossoms white and sweet 
Enticed the bees, until it seemed alive, 

And murmured like a hive. 

A.nd when the winds of autumn, with 
a shout, ' 

Tossed its great arms about, 
The shining chestnuts, bursting from 

. the sheath, 

Dropped to the ground beneath. 20 

And now some fragments of its 
branches bare, 
Shaped as a stately chair, 
Have by my hearthstone found a home 
at last, 
And whisper of the past. 

The Danish king could not in all his 
pride 
Repel the ocean tide, 
But, seated in this chair, I can in 
rhyme 
Roll back the tide of Time. 



I see again, as one in vision sees, 

The blossoms and the bees, 30 

And hear the children's voices shout 
and call, 
And the brown chestnuts fall. 

I see the smithy with its fires 
aglow, 
I hear the bellows blow, 
And the shrill hammers on the anvil 
beat 
The iron white with heat ! 

And thus, dear children, have ye made 
for me 
This day a jubilee, 
And to my more than threescore years 
and ten 
Brought back my youth again. 40 

The heart hath its own memory, like 
the mind, 
And in it are enshrined 
The precious keepsakes, into which 
is wrought 
The giver's loving thought. 




some fragments of its branches bare, 
Shaped as a stately chair" 



448 



ULTIMA THULE 



Only your love and your remembrance 
could 
Give life to this dead wood, 
And make these branches, leafless now 
so long, 
Blossom again in song. 



JUGURTHA 

How cold are thy baths, Apollo ! 

Cried the African monarch, the 
splendid, 
As down to his death in the hollow 
Dark dungeons of Rome he de- 
scended, 
Uncrowned, unthroned, unat- 
tended ; 
How cold are thy baths, Apollo ! 

How cold are thy baths, Apollo ! 

Cried the Poet, unknown, unbe- 
friended, 
As the vision, that lured him to follow, 
With the mist and the darkness 

blended, 
And the dream of his life was 
ended ; 
How cold are thy baths, Apollo ! 



THE IRON PEN 

Made from a fetter of the Prisoner Bonni- 
vard, of Chillon ; the handle of wood from the 
Frigate Constitution, and bound with a circlet of 
gold, inset with three precious stones from Siberia, 
Ceylon, and Maine. 

I thought this Pen would arise 
From the casket where it lies — 

Of itself would arise and write 
My thanks and my surprise. 

When you gave it me under the pines, 
I dreamed these gems from the mines 

Of Siberia, Ceylon, and Maine 
Would glimmer as thoughts in the 
lines ; 

That this iron link from the chain 
Of Bonnivard might retain 

Some verse of the Poet who sang 
Of the prisoner and his pain ; 

That this wood from the frigate's 

mast 
Might write me a rhyme at last, 



As it used to write on the sky 
The song of the sea and the blast. 

But motionless as I wait, 
Like a Bishop lying in state 

Lies the Pen, with its mitre of gold, 
Audits jewels inviolate. 

Then must I speak, and say 
That the light of that summer day 

In the garden under the pines 
Shall not fade and pass away. 

I shall see you standing there, 
Caressed by the fragrant air, 

With the shadow on your face, 
And the sunshine on your hair. 

I shall hear the sweet low tone 
Of a voice before unknown, 

Saying, ' ' This is from me to you — 
From me, and to you alone." 

And in words not idle and vain 
I shall answer and thank you again 
For the gift, and the grace of the 
gift, 
O beautiful Helen of Maine! 

And forever this gift will be 
As a blessing from you to me, 

As a drop of the dew of your youth 
On the leaves of an aged tree. 



ROBERT BURNS 

I see amid the fields of Ayr 

A ploughman, who, in foul and fair, 

Sings at his task 
So clear, we know not if it is 
The laverock's song we hear, or his, 

Nor care to ask. 

For him the ploughing of those fields 
A more ethereal harvest yields 

Than sheaves of grain ; 
Songs flush with purple bloom the 
rye, 10 

The plover's call, the curlew's cry, 

Sing in his brain. 

Touched by his hand, the wayside 

. weed 
Becomes a flower; the lowliest reed 
Beside the stream 



ROBERT BURNS 



449 



Is clothed with beauty; gorse and 

grass 
And heather, where his footsteps pass, 
The brighter seem. 

He sings of love, whose flame il- 
lumes 
The darkness of lone cottage rooms ; 20 

He feels the force, 
The treacherous undertow and stress 
Of wayward passions, and no less 

The keen remorse. 

At moments, wrestling with his fate, 
His voice is harsh, but not with 
hate ; 
The brush-wood, hung 



Are Manhood, Freedom, Brotherhood, 
Its discords but an interlude 
Between the words. 

And then to die so young and leave 
Unfinished what he might achieve ! 

Yet better sure 
Is this, than wandering up and down, 
An old man in a country town, 41 

Infirm and poor. 

For now he haunts his native land 
As an immortal youth ; his hand 

Guides every plough ; 
He sits beside each ingle-nook, 
His voice is in each rushing brook, 

Each rustling bough. 




" A ploughman, who, in foul and fair, 
Sings at his task " 



Above the tavern door, lets fall 
Its bitter leaf, its drop of gall 
Upon his tongue. 

But still the music of his song 
Rises o'er all, elate and strong ; 
Its master-chords 



30 



His presence haunts this room to- 
night, 
A form of mingled mist and light 50 

From that far coast. 
Welcome beneath this roof of mine! 
Welcome! this vacant chair is thine, 

Dear guest and ghost ! 



45° 



ULTIMA THULE 



HELEN OF TYRE 

What phantom is this that appears 
Through the purple mists of the 
years, 
Itself but a mist like these ? 
A woman of cloud and of fire ; 
It is she ; it is Helen of Tyre, 

The town in the midst of the 
seas. 

O Tyre ! in thy crowded streets 
The phantom appears and retreats, 

And the Israelites that sell 
Thy lilies and lions of brass, 10 

Look up as they see her pass, 

And murmur ' ' Jezebel ! " 

Then another phantom is seen 
At her side, in a gray gabardine, 

With beard that floats to his 
waist ; 
It is Simon Magus, ♦the Seer ; 
He speaks, and she pauses to hear 

The words he utters in haste. 

He says : "From this evil fame, 
From this life of sorrow and shame, 20 

I will lift thee and make thee 
mine ; 
Thou hast been Queen Candace, 
And Helen of Troy, and shalt be 

The Intelligence Divine ! " 

Oh, sweet as the breath of morn, 
To the fallen and forlorn 

Are whispered words of praise ; 
For the famished heart believes 
The falsehood that tempts and de- 
ceives, 

And the promise that betrays. 30 

So she follows from land to land 
The wizard's beckoning hand, 

As a leaf is blown by the gust, 
Till she vanishes into night. 
O reader, stoop down and write 

With thy finger in the dust. 

O town in the midst of the seas, 
With thy rafts of cedar trees, 

Thy merchandise and thy ships, 
Thou, too, art become as naught, 40 
A phantom, a shadow, a thought, 

A name upon men's lips. 



ELEGIAC 

Dark is the morning with mist ; in the 
narrow mouth of the harbor 
Motionless lies the sea, under its 
curtain of cloud ; 
Dreamily glimmer the sails of ships on 
the distant horizon, 
Like to the towers of a town, built 
on the verge of the sea. 

Slowly and stately and still, they sail 
forth into the ocean; 
With them sail my thoughts over 
the limitless deep, 
Farther and farther away, borne on by 
unsatisfied longings, 
Unto Hesperian isles, unto Ausonian 
shores. 

Now they have vanished away, have 
disappeared in the ocean ; 
Sunk are the towers of the town 
into the depths of the sea ! 
All have vanished but those that, 
moored in the neighboring road- 
stead, 
Sailless at anchor ride, looming so 
large in the mist. 

Vanished, too, are the thoughts, the 
dim, unsatisfied longings ; 
Sunk are the turrets of cloud into 
the ocean of dreams ; 
While in a haven of rest my heart is 
riding at anchor, 
Held by the chains of love, held by 
the anchors of trust ! 



OLD ST. DAVID'S AT RADNOR 

What an image of peace and rest 
Is this little church among its 
graves ! 
All is so quiet ; the troubled breast, 
The wounded spirit, the heart op- 
pressed, 
Here may find the repose it craves. 

See, how the ivy climbs and ex- 
pands 
Over this humble hermitage, 

And seems to caress with its little 
hands 



MAIDEN AND WEATHERCOCK 



45i 



The rough, gray stones, as a child that 
stands 
Caressing the wrinkled cheeks of 
age! 

You cross the threshold ; and dim and 
small 
Is the space that serves for the 
Shepherd's Fold; . 
The narrow aisle, the bare, white wall, 
The pews, and the pulpit quaint and 
tall, 
Whisper and say: "Alas! we are 
old." 

Herbert's chapel at Bemerton 

Hardly more spacious is than this ; 
But poet and pastor, blent in one, 
Clothed with a splendor, as of the sun, 
That lowly and holy edifice. 

It is not the wall of stone without 
That makes the building small or 
great, 
But the soul's light shining round 

about, 
And the faith that overcometh doubt, 
And the love that stronger is than 
hate. 

Were I a pilgrim in search of peace, 
Were I a pastor of Holy Church, 
More than a Bishop's diocese 
Should I prize this place of rest and 
release 
From further longing and further 
search. 

Here would I stay, and let the world 
With its distant thunder roar and 
roll; 
Storms do not rend the sail that is 

furled ; 
Nor like a dead leaf, tossed and 
whirled 
In an eddy of wind, is the anchored 
soul. 

FOLK-SONGS 

THE SIFTING OF PETER 

In St. Luke's Gospel we are told 
How Peter in the days of old 
Was sifted ; 



And now, though ages intervene, 
Sin is the same, while time and scene 
Are shifted. 

Satan desires us, great and small, 
As wheat to sift us, and we all 

Are tempted ; 
Not one, however rich or great, 10 
Is by his station or estate 

Exempted. 

No house so safely guarded is 
But he, by some device of his, 

Can enter ; 
No heart hath armor so complete 
But he can pierce with arrows fleet 

Its centre. 

For all at last the cock will crow, 
Who hear the warning voice, but go 20 

Unheeding, 
Till thrice and more they have de- 
nied 
The Man of Sorrows, crucified 

And bleeding. 

One look of that pale, suffering face 
Will make us feel the deep disgrace 

Of weakness ; 
We shall be sifted till the strength 
Of self-conceit be changed at length 

To meekness. 30 

Wounds of the soul, though healed, 

will ache ; 
The reddening scars remain, and make 

Confession ; 
Lost innocence returns no more ; 
We are not what we were before 

Transgression. 

But noble souls, through dust and 

heat, 
Rise from disaster and defeat 

The stronger; 
And conscious still of the divine 40 
Within them, lie on earth supine 

No longer. 

MAIDEN AND WEATHERCOCK 

MAIDEN. 

O Weatheecock on the village spire, 
With your golden feathers all on 
fire, 



452 



ULTIMA THULE 



Tell me, what can you see from your 

perch 
Above there over the tower of the 

church ? 

WEATHERCOCK. 

I can see the roofs and the streets be- 
low, 

And the people moving to and fro, 

And beyond, without either roof or 
street, 

The great salt sea, and the fishermen's 
fleet. 

I can see a ship come sailing in 
Beyond the headlands and harbor of 

Lynn, 
And a young man standing on the 

deck, 
With a silken kerchief round bis neck. 

Now he is pressing it to his lips, 
And now he is kissing his finger-tips, 
And now he is lifting and waving his 

hand, 
And blowing the kisses toward the 

land. 



Ah, that is the ship from over the sea, 
That is bringing my lover back to me, 
Bringing my lover so fond and true, 
Who does not change with the wind 
like you. 

WEATHERCOCK. 

If I change with all the winds that 

blow, 
It is only because they made me so, 
And people would think it wondrous 

strange, 
If I, a Weathercock, should not 

change. 

O pretty Maiden, so fine and fair, 
With your dreamy eyes and your 

golden hair, 
When you and your lover meet to-day 
You will thank me for looking some 

other way. 

THE WINDMILL 

Behold ! a giant am I ! 
Aloft here in my tower, 
With my granite jaws I devour 



The maize, and the wheat, and the rye, 
And grind them into flour. 

I look down over the farms ; 
In the fields of grain I see 
The harvest that is to be, 

And I fling to the air my arms, 
For I know it is all for me. 

I hear the sound of flails 

Far off, from the threshing-floors 
In barns, with their open doors, 

And the wind, the wind in my sails, 
Louder and louder roars. * 

I stand here in my place, 

With my foot on the rock below, 
And whichever way it may blow, 

I meet it face to face 

As a brave man meets his foe. 

And while we wrestle and strive, 
My master, the miller, stands 
And feeds me with his hands ; 

For he knows who makes him thrive, 
Who makes him lord of lands. 

On Sundays I take my rest ; 
Church-going bells begin 
Their low, melodious din ; 

I cross my arms on my breast, 
And all is peace within. 



THE TIDE RISES, THE TIDE 
FALLS 

The tide rises, the tide falls, 

The twilight darkens, the curlew 

calls ; 
Along the sea-sands damp and brown 
The traveller hastens toward the 
town, 
And the tide rises, the tide falls. 

Darkness settles on roofs and walls, 
But the sea, the sea in the darkness 

calls ; 
The little waves, with their soft, white 

hands, 
Efface the footprints in the sands, 
And the tide rises, the tide falls. 

The morning breaks ; the steeds in 

their stalls 
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls ; 



NIGHT 



453 



The day returns, but nevermore 
Returns the traveller to the shore, 
And the tide rises, the tide falls. 



SONNETS 
MY CATHEDRAL 

Like two cathedral towers these 

stately pines 
Uplift their fretted summits tipped 

with cones ; 
The arch beneath them is not built 

with stones, 
Not Art but Nature traced these 

lovely lines, ' 

And carved this graceful arabesque of 

vines ; 



THE BURIAL OF THE POET 

RICHARD HENRY DANA 

In the old churchyard of his native 

town, 
And in the ancestral tomb beside the 

wall, 
We laid him in the sleep that comes 

to all, 
And left him to his rest and his re- 
nown. 
The snow was falling, as if Heaven 

dropped down 
White flowers of Paradise to strew 

his pall ; — 
The dead around him seemed to 

wake, and call 
His name, as worthy of so white a 

crown. 




The day returns, but nevermore 
Returns the traveller to the shore " 



No organ but the wind here sighs 

and moans, 
No sepulchre conceals a martyr's 

bones, 
No marble bishop on his tomb re- 
clines. 
Enter ! the pavement, carpeted with 

leaves, 
Gives back a softened echo to thy 

tread ! 
Listen ! the choir is singing ; all the 

birds, 
In leafy galleries beneath the eaves, 
Are singing! listen, ere the sound 

be fled, 
And learn there may be worship 

without words. 



And now the moon is shining on the 
scene, 

And the broad sheet of snow is writ- 
ten o'er 

With shadows cruciform of leafless 
trees, 
As once the winding-sheet of Saladin 

With chapters of the Koran ; but, 
ah ! more 

Mysterious and triumphant signs are 
these. 

NIGHT 

Into the darkness and the hush of night 
Slowly the landscape sinks, and 
fades away, 



454 



ULTIMA THULE 



And with it fade the phantoms of 

the day, 
The ghosts of men and things, that 

haunt the light. 
The crowd, the clamor, the pursuit, 

the flight, 
The unprofitable splendor and dis- 
play, 
The agitations, and the cares that 

prey 
Upon our hearts, all vanish out of 

sight. 
The better life begins ; the world no 

more 
Molests us ; all its records we erase 
From the dull commonplace book of 

our lives, 
That like a palimpsest is written o'er 
With trivial incidents of time and 

place, 
And lo ! the ideal, hidden beneath, 

revives. 

L'E£TVOI 
THE POET AND HIS SONGS 

As the birds come in the Spring, 
"We know not from where ; 

As the stars come at evening 
From depths of the air ; 



As the rain comes from the cloud, 
And the brook from the ground ; 

As suddenly, low or loud, 
Out of silence a sound ; 

As the grape comes to the vine, 

The fruit to the tree; 
As the wind comes to the pine, 

And the tide to the sea ; 

As come the white sails of ships 

O'er the ocean's verge ; 
As comes the smile to the lips, 

The foam to the surge ; 

So come to the Poet his songs, 

All hitherward blown 
From the misty realm, that belongs 

To the vast Unknown. 

His, and not his, are the lays 

He sings ; and their fame 
Is his, and not his ; and the praise 

And the pride of a name. 

For voices pursue him by day, 

And haunt him by night, 
And he listens, and needs must 
obey, 

When the Angel says, ' ' Write ! " 




Becalmed upon the sea of Thought" 



IN THE HARBOR 



BECALMED 

Becalmed upon the sea of Thought, 
Still unattained the land it sought, 
My mind, with loosely hanging sails, 
Lies waiting the auspicious gales. 

On either side, behind, before, 
The ocean stretches like a floor, — 
A level floor of amethyst, 
Crowned by a golden dome of mist. 

Blow, breath of inspiration, blow ! 
Shake and uplift this golden glow! 
And fill the canvas of the mind 
With wafts of thy celestial wind. 

Blow, breath of song ! until I feel 
The straining sail, the lifting keel, 
The life of the awakening sea, 
Its motion and its mystery ! 

THE POET'S CALENDAR 

JANUARY 

Janus am I ; oldest of potentates ; 
Forward I look, and backward, and 
below 



I count, as god of avenues and 
gates, 
The years that through my portals 
come and go. 
I block the roads, and drift the fields 
with snow ; 
I chase the wild-fowl from the fro- 
zen fen ; 
My frosts congeal the rivers in their 
flow, 
My fires light up the hearths and 
hearts of men. 

FEBRUARY 

I am lustration ; and the sea is mine ! 
I wash the sands and headlands 
with my tide ; 
My brow is crowned with branches of 
the pine ; 
Before my chariot- wheels the fishes 
glide. 
By me all things unclean are nuri- 
fied, • 

By me the souls of men washed 
white again ; 
E'en the unlovely tombs of those who 
died 
Without a dirge, I cleanse from 
every stain. 



45^ 



IN THE HARBOR 



MARCH 

I Martius am! Once first, and now 
the third ! 
To lead the Year was my appointed 
place ; 
A mortal dispossessed me by a word, 
And set there Janus with the double 
face. 
Hence I make war on all the human 
race; 
I shake the cities with my hurri- 
canes ; 
I flood the rivers and their banks 
efface, 
And drown the farms and hamlets 
with my rains. 

APRIL 

I open wide the portals of the Spring 
To welcome the procession of the 
flowers, 
With their gay banners, and the birds 
that sing 
Their song of songs from their 
aerial towers. 
I soften with my sunshine and my 
showers 
The heart of earth ; with thoughts 
of lovel glide 
Into the hearts of men ; and with the 
Hours 
Upon the Bull with wreathed horns 
I ride. 

MAY 

Hark ! The sea-faring wild-fowl loud 
proclaim 
My coming, and the swarming of 
the bees. 



These are my heralds, and behold! my 
name 
Is written in blossoms on the haw- 
thorn-trees. 
I tell the mariner when to sail the 
seas; 
I waft o'er all the land from far 
away 
The breath and bloom of the Hesper- 
ides, 
My birthplace. I am Maia. I am 
May. 

JUNE 

Mine is the Month of Roses ; yes, and 
mine 
The Month of Marriages! All plea- 
sant sights 
And scents, the fragrance of the blos- 
soming vine, 
The foliage of the valleys and the 
heights. 
Mine are the longest days, the loveli- 
est nights ; 
The mower's scythe makes music to 
my ear ; 
I am the mother of all dear delights ; 
I am the fairest daughter of the year. 

JULY 

My emblem is the Lion, and I breathe 
The breath of Libyan deserts o'er 
the land ; 
My sickle as a sabre I unsheathe, 
And bent before me the pale har- 
vests stand. 
The lakes and rivers shrink at my 
command, 
And there is thirst and fever in the 
air; 




" Mine are the longest days, the loveliest nights " 



THE POET'S CALENDAR 



457 




mm ■ : . ft ■ s ■ ■ 




" I shroud myself in gloom 



The sky is changed to brass, the earth 
to sand ; 
I am the Emperor whose name I 
bear. 

AUGUST 

The Emperor Octavian, called the 
August, 
I being his favorite, bestowed his 
name 
Upon me, and I hold it still in trust, 
In memory of him and of his fame. 
I am the Virgin, and my vestal flame 
Burns less intensely than the Lion's 
rage ; 
Sheaves are my only garlands, and I 
claim 
The golden Harvests as my herit- 



SEPTEMBER 

I bear the Scales, where hang in equi- 
poise 
The night and day ; and when unto 
my lips 
I put my trumpet, with its stress and 
noise 
Fly the white clouds like tattered 
sails of ships ; 



The tree-tops lash the air with sounds 
ing whips ; 
Southward the clamorous sea-fowl 
wing their flight ; 
The hedges are all red with haws and 
hips, 
The Hunter's Moon reigns empress 
of the night. 

'OCTOBER 

My ornaments are fruits ; my gar- 
ments leaves 
Woven like cloth of gold, and crim- 
son dyed ; 
I do not boast the harvesting of 
sheaves, 
O'er orchards and o'er vineyards I 
preside. 
Though on the frigid Scorpion I ride, 
The dreamy air is full, and over- 
flows 
With tender memories of the summer- 
tide, 
And mingled voices of the doves and 
crows. 

NOVEMBER 

The Centaur, Sagittarius, am I, 
Born of Ixion's and the cloud's em- 
brace : 



45§ 



IN THE HARBOR 



With sounding hoofs across the earth 

ifly, 

A steed Thessalian with a human 
face, 
Sharp winds the arrows are with which 
I chase 
The leaves, half dead already with 
affright ; 
I shroud myself in gloom ; and to the 
race 
Of mortals bring nor comfort nor 
• delight. 

DECEMBER 

Riding upon the Goat, with snow- 
white hair, 
I come, the last of all. This crown 
of mine 
Is of the holly ; in my hand I bear 
The thyrsus, tipped with fragrant 
cones of pine. 
I celebrate the birth of the Divine, 
And the return of the Saturnian 
reign ; — 
My songs are carols sung at every 
shrine, 
Proclaiming "Peace on earth, good 
will to men." 



AUTUMN WITHIN 

It is autumn ; not without, 
But within me is the cold. 

Youth and spring are all about ; 
Ifcis I that have grown old. 

Birds are darting through the air, 
Singing, building without rest ; 

Life is stirring everywhere, 
Save within my lonely breast. 

There is silence : the dead leaves 
Fall and rustle and are still ; 

Beats no flail upon the sheaves, 
Comes no murmur from the mill. 



THE FOUR LAKES OF MADISON 

Four limpid lakes, — four Naiades 
Or sylvan deities are these, 

In flowing robes of azure dressed ; 
Four lovely handmaids, that uphold 
Their shining mirrors, rimmed with 
gold, 

To the fair city in the West. 



By day the coursers of the sun 
Drink of these waters as they run 

Their swift diurnal round on high ; 
By night the constellations glow 
Far down the hollow deeps below, 

And glimmer in another sky. 

Fair lakes, serene and full of light, 
Fair town, arrayed in robes of white, 

How visionary ye appear ! 
All like a floating landscape seems 
In cloud-land or the land of dreams, 

Bathed in a golden atmosphere ! 

VICTOR AND VANQUISHED 

As one who long hath fled with pant- 
ing breath 

Before his foe, bieeding and near to 
fall, 

I turn and set my back against the 
wall, 

And look thee in the face, trium- 
phant Death. 
I call for aid, and no one answereth ; 

I am alone with thee, who conquer- 
est all ; 

Yet me thy threatening form doth 
not appall, 

For thou art but a phantom and a 
wraith. 
Wounded and weak, sword broken at 
the hilt, 

With armor shattered, and without 
a shield, 

I stand unmoved; do with me what 
thou wilt ; 
I can resist no more, but will not yield. 

This is no tournament where cowards 
tilt: 

The vanquished here is victor of the 
field. 

MOONLIGHT 

As a pale phantom with a lamp 
Ascends some ruin's haunted stair, 

So glides the moon along the damp 
Mysterious chambers of the air. 

Now hidden in cloud, and now re- 
vealed, 
As if this phantom, full of pain, 
Were by the crumbling walls con- 
cealed, 
And at the windows seen again. 



THE CHILDREN'S CRUSADE 



459 



Until at last, serene and proud 
In all the splendor of her light, 

She walks the terraces of cloud, 
Supreme as Empress of the Night. 

I look, but recognize no more 
Objects familiar to my view ; 

The very pathway to my door 
Is an enchanted avenue. 

All things are changed. One mass of 
shade, 
The elm- trees drop their curtains 
down ; 
By palace, park, and colonnade 
I walk as in a foreign town. 

The very ground beneath my feet 
Is clothed with a diviner air ; 



While marble paves the silent street 
And glimmers in the empty square. 

Illusion ! Underneath there lies 
The common life of every day ; 

Only the spirit glorifies 
With its own tints the sober gray. 

In vain we look, in vain uplift 

Our eyes to heaven, if we are blind; 

We see but what we have the gift 
Of seeing ; what we bring we find. 

THE CHILDREN'S CRUSADE 
[a fragment] 

I 

What is this I read in history, 
Full of marvel, full of mystery, 




" The very ground beneath my feet 
Is clothed with a diviner air " 



460 



IN THE HARBOR 



Difficult to understand ? 

Is it fiction, is it truth ? 

Children in the flower of youth, , 

Heart in heart, and hand in hand, 

Ignorant of what helps or harms. 

Without armor, without arms, 

Journeying to the Holy Land ! 

Who shall answer or divine ? 10 

Never since the world was made 
Such a wonderful crusade 
Started forth for Palestine. 
Never while the world shall last 
Will it reproduce the past ; 
Never will it see again 
Such an army, such a band, 
Over mountain, over main, 
Journeying to the Holy Land. 

Like a shower of blossoms blown 20 
From the parent trees were they ; 
Like a flock of birds that fly 
Through the unfrequented sky, 
Holding nothing as their own, 
Passed they into lands unknown, 
Passed to suffer and to die. 

O the simple, child-like trust! 
O the faith that could believe 
What the harnessed, .iron-mailed 
Knights of Christendom had failed, 30 
By their prowess, to achieve, 
They, the children, could and must ! 

Little thought the Hermit, preaching 
Holy Wars to knight and baron, 
That the words dropped in his teach- 
ing, 
His entreaty, his beseeching, 
Would by children's hands be gleaned, 
And the staff on which he leaned 
Blossom like the rod of Aaron. 

As a summer wind upheaves 40 

The innumerable leaves 

In the bosom of a wood, — 

Not as separate leaves, but massed 

All together by the blast, — 

So for evil or for good 

His resistless breath upheaved 

All at once the many -leaved, 

Many-thoughted multitude. 

In the tumult of the air 

Rock the boughs with all the nests 50 

Cradled on their tossing crests ; 



By the fervor of his prayer 
Troubled hearts were everywhere 
Rocked and tossed in human breasts. 

For a century, at least, 

His prophetic voice had ceased ; 

But the air was heated still 

By his lurid words and will, 

As from fires in far-off woods, 

In the autumn of the year, 60 

An unwonted fever broods 

In the sultry atmosphere. 



In Cologne the bells were ringing, 
In Cologne the nuns were singing 
Hymns and canticles divine; 
Loud the monks sang in their stalls, 
And the thronging streets were loud 
With the voices of the crowd ; — 
Underneath the city walls 
Silent flowed the river Rhine. 70 

From the gates, that summer day, 
Clad in robes of hodden gray, 
With the red cross on the breast, 
Azure-eyed and golden-haired, 
Forth the young crusaders fared ; 
While above the band devoted 
Consecrated banners floated, 
Fluttered many a flag and streamer, 
And the cross o'er all the rest ! 
Singing lowly, meekly, slowly, 80 
" Give us, give us back the holy 
Sepulchre of the Redeemer ! " 
On the vast procession pressed, 
Youths and maidens. . . . 

in 

Ah ! what master hand shall paint 
How they journeyed on their way, 
How the days grew long and dreary, 
How their little feet grew weary, 
How their little hearts grew faint! 

Ever swifter day by day 9c 

Flowed the homeward river ; ever 
More and more its whitening cur- 
rent 
Broke and scattered into spray, 
Till the calmly flowing river 
Changed into a mountain torrent, 
Rushing from its glacier green 
Down through chasm and black ra- 
vine. 



SUNDOWN 



461 



Like a phoenix in its nest, 
Burned the red sun in the West, 
Sinking in an ashen cloud ; 10 

In the East, above the crest 
Of the sea-like mountain chain, 
Like a phoenix from its shroud, 
Came the red sun back again. 

Now around them, white with snow, 
Closed the mountain peaks. Below, 



On the mountains' southern slope 
Lies Jerusalem the Holy ! " 
As a white rose in its pride, 
By the wind in summer-tide 
Tossed and loosened from the branch, 
Showers its petals o'er the ground, 
From the distant mountain's side, 
Scattering all its snows around, 
With mysterious, muffled sound, 
Loosened, fell the avalanche. 130 




Forth the young crusad«rs fared : 



Headlong from the precipice 
Down into the dark abyss, 
Plunged the cataract, white with foam ; 
And it said, or seemed to say: no 

" Oh return, while yet you may, 
Foolish children, to your home, 
There the Holy City is ! " 

But the dauntless leader said : 
"Faint not, though your bleeding feet 
O'er these slippery paths of sleet 
Move but painfully and slowly; 
Other feet than yours have bled ; 
Other tears than yours been shed. 
Courage I lose not heart or hope ; 120 



Voices, echoes far and near, 
Roar of winds and waters blending, 
Mists uprising, clouds impending, 
Filled them with a sense of fear, 
Formless, nameless, never ending. 



SUNDOWN 

The summer sun is sinking low ; 
Only the tree-tops redden and glow : 
Only the weathercock on the spire 
Of the neighboring church is a flame 
of fire ; 
All is in shadow below. 



IN THE HARBOR 



Only the lamp in the anchored bark 
Sends its glimmer across the dark " 



O beautiful, awful summer day, 
What hast thou given, what taken 

away ? 
Life and death, and love and hate, 
Homes made happy or desolate, 
Hearts made sad or gay ! 

On the road of life one mile- stone 

more ! 
In the book of life one leaf turned 

o'er! 
Like a red seal is the setting sun 
On the good and the evil men have 

done, — 
Naught can to-day restore 1 



CHIMES 

Sweet chimes! that in the loneliness 

of night 
Salute the passing hour, and in the 

dark 
And silent chambers of the house- 
hold mark 
The movements of the myriad orbs 

of light ! 
Through my closed eyelids, by the 

inner sight, 
I see the constellations in the 

arc 
Of their great circles moving on, 

and hark ! 
I almost hear them singing in their 

flight. 
Better than sleep it is to lie awake, 
O'er-canopied by the vast starry 

dome 
Of the immeasurable sky ; to feel 
The slumbering world sink under us, 

and make 



Hardly an eddy, — a mere rush of 

foam 
On the great sea beneath a sinking 

keel. 



FOUR BY THE CLOCK 

"Nahant, September 8, 1880, four o'clock in 
the morning." 

Four by the clock » and yet not 

day; 
But the great world rolls and wheels 

away, 
With its cities on land, and its ships 

at sea, 
Into the dawn that is to be I 

Only the lamp in the anchored bark 
Sends its glimmer across the dark, 
And the heavy breathing of the sea 
Is the only sound that comes to me. 

AUF WIEDERSEHEN 

IN MEMORY OF J. T. P. 

Until we meet again! That is the 
meaning 

Of the familiar words, that men re- 
peat 
At parting in the street. 

Ah yes, till then ! but when death in- 
tervening 

Rends us asunder, with what cease 
less pain 
We wait for the Again ! 

The friends who leave us do not feel 

the sorrow 
Of parting, as we feel it, who must stay 



ELEGIAC VERSE 



463 



Lamenting day by day, 
And knowing, when we wake upon 

the morrow, 
We shall not find in its accustomed 
place 
The one beloved face. 

It were a double grief, if the departed, 
Being released from earth, should still 
retain 
A sense of earthly pain ; 
It were a double grief, if the true- 
hearted, 
Who loved us here, should on the 
farther shore 
Remember us no more. 

Believing, in the midst of our afflic- 
tions, 
That death is a beginning, not an end, 

We cry to them, and send 
Farewells, that better might be called 

predictions, 
Being fore-shadowings of the future, 
thrown 
Into the vast Unknown. 

Faith overleaps the confines of our 

reason, 
And if by faith, as in old times was 
said, 
Women received their dead 
Raised up to life, then only for a season 
Our partings are, nor shall we wait in 
vain 
Until we meet again ! 



ELEGIAC VERSE 



Perad venture of old, some bard in 
Ionian Islands, 
Walking alone by the sea, hearing 
the wash of the waves, 
Learned the secret from them of the 
beautiful verse elegiac, 
Breathing into his song motion and 
sound of the sea. 

For as the wave of the sea, upheaving 
in long undulations, 
Plunges loud on the sands, pauses, 
and turns, and retreats, 
So the Hexameter, rising and singing, 
with cadence sonorous, 
Falls ; and in refluent rhythm back 
the Pentameter flows. 



Not in his youth alone, but in age, 
may the heart of the poet 
Bloom into song, as the gorse blos- 
soms in autumn and spring. 

in 

Not in tenderness wanting, yet rough 
are the rhymes of our poet ; 
Though it be Jacob's voice, Esau's, 
alas! are the hands. 




Plunges loud on the sands, pauses, and turns, and retreats ' 



464 IN THE 


HARBOR 


IV 


XII 


Let us be grateful to writers for what 


Wisely the Hebrews admit no Present 


is left in the inkstand ; 


tense in their language ; 


When to leave off is an art only at- 


While we are speaking the word, it 


tained by the few. 


is already the Past. 


V 

How can the Three be One ? you ask 


XIII 

In the twilight of age all things seem 


me ; I answer by asking, 


strange and phantasmal, 


Hail and snow and rain, are they 


As between daylight and dark 


not three, and yet one ? 


ghost-like the landscape ap- 


VI 


pears. 


By the mirage uplifted, the land floats 


XIV 


vague in the ether, 


Great is the art of beginning, but 


Ships and the shadows of ships hang 


greater the art is of ending ; 


in the motionless air ; 


Many a poem is marred by a super- 


So by the art of the poet our common 


fluous verse. 


life is uplifted, 




So, transfigured, the world floats in 




a luminous haze. 


THE CITY AND THE SEA 


VII 


The panting City cried to the Sea, 


Like a French poem is Life ; being 


' ' I am faint with heat, — Oh breathe 


only perfect in structure 


on me ! " 


When with the masculine rhymes 




mingled the feminine are. 


And the Sea said, " Lo, I breathe ! but 




my breath 


VIII 


To some will be life, to others death! " 


Down from the mountain descends the 




brooklet, rejoicing in freedom; 


As to Prometheus, bringing ease 


Little it dreams of the mill hid in 


In pain, come the Oceanides, 


the valley below ; 




Glad with the joy of existence, the 


So to the City, hot with the flame 


child goes singing and laughing, 


Of the pitiless sun, the east wind 


Little dreaming what toils lie in the 


came. 


future concealed. 






It came from the heaving breast of 


IX 


the deep, 


As the ink from our pen, so flow our 


Silent as dreams are, and sudden as 


thoughts and our feelings 


sleep. 


When we begin to write, however 




sluggish before. 


Life-giving, death-giving, which will 

it be ; 
breath of the merciful, merciless 


X 


Like the Kingdom of Heaven, the 


Sea? 


Fountain of Youth is within 




us ; 
If we seek it elsewhere, old shall we 


MEMORIES 


grow in the search. 






Oft I remember those whom I have 


XI 


known 


If you would hit the mark, you must 


In other days, to whom my heart 


aim a little above it ; 


was led 


Every arrow that flies feels the at- 


As by a magnet, and who are not 


traction of earth. 


dead, 



HERMES TRISMEGISTUS 



465 



But absent, and their memories 

overgrown 
With other thoughts and troubles of 

my own, 
As graves with grasses are, and at 

their head 
The stone with moss and lichens so 

o'erspread, 
Nothing is legible but the name 

alone. 
And is it so with them? After long 

years, 
Do they remember me in the same 

way, 
And is the memory pleasant as to 

me ? 
I fear to ask; yet wherefore are my 

fears ? 
Pleasures, like flowers, may wither 

and decay, 
And yet the root perennial may be. 



HERMES TRISMEGISTUS 

As Seleucus narrates, Hermes describes the 
principles that rank as wholes in two myriads of 
books; or, as we are informed by Manetho, he 
perfectly unfolded these principles in three myr- 
iads six thousand five hundred and twenty-five 
volumes. . . . 

. . . Our ancestors dedicated the inventions of 
their wisdom to this deity, inscribing all their 
own writings with the name of Hermes. 

— Iamblicus. 

Still through Egypt's desert places 

Flows the lordly Nile, 
From its banks the great stone faces 

Gaze with patient smile. 
Still the pyramids imperious 

Pierce the cloudless skies, 
And the Sphinx stares with mysteri- 
ous, 

Solemn, stony eyes. 

But where are the old Egyptian 

Demi-gods and kings ? 10 

Nothing left but an inscription 

Graven on stones and rings. 
Where are Helios and Hephaestus, 

Gods of eldest eld ? 
Where is Hermes Trismegistus, 

Who their secrets held? 

Where are now the many hundred 
Thousand books he wrote ? 

By the Thaumaturgists plundered, 
Lost in lands remote ; 20 



In oblivion sunk forever, 

As when o'er the land 
Blows a storm-wind, in the river 

Sinks the scattered sand. 

Something unsubstantial, ghostly, 

Seems this Theurgist, 
In deep meditation mostly 

Wrapped, as in a mist. 
Vague, phantasmal, and unreal 

To our thought he seems, 30 

Walking in a world ideal, 

In a land of dreams. 

Was he one, or many, merging 

Name and fame in one, 
Like a stream, to which, converging, 

Many streamlets run ? 
Till, with gathered power proceed- 
ing, 

Ampler sweep it takes, 
Downward the sweet waters leading 

From unnumbered lakes. 40 

By the Nile I see him wandering, 

Pausing now and then, 
On the mystic union pondering 

Between gods and men ; 
Half believing, wholly feeling, 

With supreme delight, 
How the gods, themselves conceal- 
ing, 

Lift men to their height. 

Or in Thebes, the hundred-gated, 

In the thoroughfare 50 

Breathing, as if consecrated, 

A diviner air ; 
And amid discordant noises, 

In the jostling throng, 
Hearing far, celestial voices 

Of Olympian song. 

Who shall call his dreams fallacious ? 

Who has searched or sought 
All the unexplored and spacious 

Universe of thought ? 60 

Who, in his own skill confiding, 

Shall with rule and line 
Mark the border -land dividing 

Human and divine ? 

Trismegistus ! three times greatest ! 

How thy name sublime 
Has descended to this latest 

Progeny of time ! 



4 66 



IN THE HARBOR 



Happy they whose written pages 


Spread its protecting arms athwart the 


Perish with their lives, 7 o 


skies ; 


If amid the crumbling ages 


And set thereon, like jewels crystal 


Still their name survives! 


clear, 




The souls magnanimous, that knew 


Thine, priest of Egypt, lately 


not fear, 


Found I in the vast, 


Flashed their effulgence on his daz- 


Weed-encumbered, sombre, stately, 


zled eyes. 


Graveyard of the Past ; 


Ah me! how dark the discipline of 


And a presence moved before me 


pain, 


On that gloomy shore, 


Were not the suffering followed by 


As a waft of wind, that o'er me 


the sense 


Breathed, and was no more. 80 


Of infinite rest and infinite release! 




This is our consolation ; and again 




A great soul cries to us in our sus- 


TO THE AYON 


pense, 




"I came from martyrdom unto this 


Flow on, sweet river ! like his verse 


peace ! " 


Who lies beneath this sculptured 

hearse ; 
Nor wait beside the churchyard wall 




MY BOOKS 


For him who cannot hear thy call. 






Sadly as some old mediaeval knight 


Thy playmate once ; I see him now 


Gazed at the arms he could no longer 


A boy with sunshine on his brow, 


wield, 


And hear in Stratford's quiet street 


The sword two-handed and the 


The patter of his little feet. 


shining shield 




Suspended in the hall, and full m 


I see him by thy shallow edge 


sight, 


Wading knee-deep amid the sedge ; 


While secret longings for the lost de- 


And lost in thought, as if thy stream 


light 


Were the swift river of a dream. 


Of tourney or adventure in the field 




Came over him, and tears but half 


He wonders whitherward it flows ; 


concealed 


And fain would follow where it goes, 


Trembled and fell upon his beard of 


To the wide world, that shall erelong 


white, 


Be filled with his melodious song. 


So I behold these books upon their 




shelf, 


Flow on, fair stream! That dream is 


My ornaments and arms of other 


o'er ; 


days; 


He stands upon another shore ; 


Not wholly useless, though no longer 


A vaster river near him flows, 


used, 


And still he follows where it goes. 


For they remind me of my other self, 




Younger and stronger, and the plea- 




sant ways 


PRESIDENT GARFIELD 


In which I walked, now clouded and 




confused. 


" E venni dal martirio a questa pace." 




Paradiso, XV. 148. 




These words the poet heard in Para- 
dise, 

Uttered by one who, bravely dying 
here, 

In the true faith was living in that 


MAD RIYER 


IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS 


TRAVELLER. 


sphere 


Why dost thou wildly rush and roar, 


Where the celestial cross of sacrifice 


Mad River, Mad River ? 




MAD RIVER 



467 



Wilt thou not pause and cease to pour 
Thy hurrying, headlong waters o'er 
This rocky shelf forever ? 

What secret trouble stirs thy breast ? 

Why all this fret and flurry ? 
Dost thou not know that what is best 



A little child, that all alone 
Comes venturing down the stairs of 
stone, 
Irresolute and trembling. 

Later, by wayward fancies led, 
For the wide world I panted ; 




The mills are tired of waiting " 



In this too restless world is rest 

From over-work and worry ? 10 

THE RIVER. 

What wouldst thou in these mountains 
seek, 
- O stranger from the city ? 
Is it perhaps some foolish freak 
Of thine, to put the words I speak 
Into a plaintive ditty ? 

TRAVELLER. 

Yes ; I would learn of thee thy song, 

With all its flowing numbers, 
And in a voice as fresh and strong 
As thine is, sing it all day long, 

And hear it in my slumbers. 20 

THE RIVER. 

A brooklet nameless and unknown 
Was I at first, resembling 



Out of the forest, dark and dread, 
Across the open fields I fled, 

Like one pursued and haunted. 30 

I tossed my arms, I sang aloud, 
My voice exultant blending 
With thunder from the passing cloud, 
The wind, the forest bent and bowed, 
The rush of rain descending. 

I heard the distant ocean call, 

Imploring and entreating ; 
Drawn onward, o'er this rocky wall 
I plunged, and the loud waterfall 

Made answer to the greeting. 4c. 

And now, beset with many ills, 

A toilsome life I follow ; 
Compelled to carry from the hills 
These logs to the impatient mills 
Below there in the hollow. 



4 68 



IN THE HARBOR 



Yet something ever cheers and charms 

The rudeness of my labors ; . 
Daily I water with these arms 
The cattle of a hundred farms, 

And have the birds for neighbors. 50 

Men call me Mad, and well they may, 

When, full of rage and trouble, 
I burst my banks of sand and clay, 
And sweep their wooden bridge away, 
Like withered reeds or stubble. 

Now go and write thy little rhyme, 
As of thine own creating. 

Thou seest the day is past its prime ; 

I can no longer waste my time ; 

The mills are tired of waiting. 60 



POSSIBILITIES 

Where are the" Poets, unto whom be- 
long 

The Olympian heights ; whose sing- 
ing shafts were sent 

Straight to the mark, and not from 
bows half bent, 

But with the utmost tension of the 
thong ? 
Where are the stately argosies of song, 

Whose rushing keels made music as 
they went 

Sailing in search of some new con- 
tinent, 

With all sail set, and steady winds 
and strong? 
Perhaps there lives some dreamy boy, 
untaught 

In schools, some graduate of the 
field or street, 

Who shall become a master of the 
art, 
An admiral sailing the high seas of 
thought, 

Fearless and first, and steering with 
his fleet 

For lands not yet laid down in any 
chart. 



DECORATION DAY 

Sleep, comrades, sleep and rest 
On this Field of the Grounded Arms, 

Where foes no more molest, 
Nor sentry's shot alarms! 



Ye have slept on the ground before, 

And started to your feet 
At the cannon's sudden roar, 

Or the drum's redoubling beat. 

But in this camp of Death 

No sound your slumber breaks ; 

Here is no fevered breath, 
No wound that bleeds and aches. 

All is repose and peace, 

Untrampled lies the sod ; 
The shouts of battle cease, 

It is the truce of God ! 

Rest, comrades, rest and sleep ! 

The thoughts of men shall be 
As sentinels to keep 

Your rest from danger free. 

Your silent tents of green 
We deck with fragrant flowers ; 

Yours has the suffering been, 
The memory shall be ours. 

A FRAGMENT 

Awake ! arise ! the hour is late ! 

Angels are knocking at thy door ! 
They are in haste and cannot wait, 

And once departed come no more. 

Awake! arise! the athlete's arm 
Loses its strength by too much rest; 

The fallow land, the untilled farm 
Produces only weeds at best. 

LOSS AND GAIN 

When I compare 
What I have lost with what I have 

gained, 
What I have missed with what at- 
tained, 
Little room do I find for pride. 

I am aware 
How many days have been idly spent ; 
How like an arrow the good intent 
Has fallen short or been turned aside. 

But who shall dare 
To measure loss and gain in this wise ? 
Defeat may be victory in disguise ; 
The lowest ebb is the turn of the 
tide. 



THE BELLS OF SAN BLAS 



469 



INSCRIPTION ON THE SHANK- 
LIN FOUNTAIN 

O traveller, stay thy weary feet ; 
Drink of this fountain, pure and 
sweet ; 

It flows for rich and poor the same. 
Then go thy way, remembering still 
The wayside well beneath the hill, 

The cup of water in his name. 



THE BELLS OF SAN BLAS 

What say the Bells of San Bias 
To the ships that southward pass 

From the harbor of Mazatlan ? 
To them it is nothing more 
Than the sound of surf on the shore, — 

Nothing more to master or man. 

But to me, a dreamer of dreams, 
To whom what is and what seems 

Are often one and the same, — 
The Bells of San Bias to me 10 

Have a strange, wild melody, 

And are something more than a 
name. 



For bells are the voice of the church ; 
They have tones that touch and search 

The hearts of young and old ; 
One sound to all, yet each 
Lends a meaning to their speech, 

And the meaning is manifold. 

They are a voice of the Past, 

Of an age that is fading fast, 20 

Of a power austere and grand ; 
When the flag of Spain unfurled 
Its folds o'er this western world, 

And the Priest was lord of the land. 

The chapel that once looked down 
On the little seaport town 

Has crumbled into the dust 
And on oaken beams below 
The bells swing to and fro, 

And are green with mould and 
rust. 30 

" Is, then, the old faith dead," 
They say, " and in its stead 

Is some new faith proclaimed, 
That we are forced to remain 
Naked to sun and rain, 

Unsheltered and ashamed ? 




The chapel that once looked down 
On the little seaport town " 



470 



IN THE HARBOR 



" Once in our tower aloof 
We rang over wall and roof 

Our warnings and our complaints ; 
And round about us there 4 o 

The white doves filled the air, 

Like the white souls of the saints. 

" The saints ! Ah, have they grown 
Forgetful of their own ? 

Are they asleep, or dead, 
That open to the sky 
Their ruined Missions lie, 

No longer tenanted ? 

" Oh, bring us back once more 

The vanished days of yore, 50 

When the world with faith was 
filled; 
Bring back the fervid zeal, 
The hearts of fire and steel, 

The hands that believe and build. 

" Then from our tower again 
We Will send over land and main 

Our voices of command, 
Like exiled kings who return 
To their thrones, and the people learn 

That the Priest is lord of the 
land ! " 60 

O Bells of San Bias, in vain 
Ye call back the Past again ! 

The Past is deaf to your prayer ; 
Out of the shadows of night 
The world rolls into right ; 

It is daybreak everywhere. 

FRAGMENTS 

October 22, 1838. 

Neglected record of a mind neg- 
lected, 

Unto what "lets and stops" art thou 
subjected! 

The day with all its toils and occupa- 
tions, 

The night with its reflections and 
sensations, 

The future, and the present, and the 
past, — 

All I remember, feel, and hope at last, 

All shapes of joy and sorrow, as they 



Find but a dusty image in this glass. 



August 18, 1847. 

faithful, indefatigable tides, 

That evermore upon God's errands 
go,— 

Now seaward bearing tidings of the 
land, — 

Now landward bearing tidings of the 
sea, — 

And filling every frith and estuary, 

Each arm of the great sea, each little 
creek, 

Each thread and filament of water- 
courses, 

Full with your ministration of de- 
light ! 

Under the rafters of this wooden 
bridge 

1 see you come and go ; sometimes in 

haste 
To reach your journey's end, which 

being done 
With feet unrested ye return again 
And recommence the never-ending 

task ; 
Patient, whatever burdens ye may 

bear, 
And fretted only by the impeding 

rocks. 

December 18, 1847. 

Soft through the silent air descend the 

feathery snow-flakes; 
White are the distant hills, white are 

the neighboring fields ; . 
Only the marshes are brown, and the 

river rolling among them 
Weareth the leaden hue seen in the 

eyes of the blind. 

August 4, 1856. 

A lovely morning, without the glare 
of the sun, the sea in great commotion, 
chafing and foaming. 

So from the bosom of darkness our 
days come roaring and gleam- 
ing, 
Chafe and break into foam, sink 
into darkness again. 
But on the shores of Time each leaves 
some trace of its passage, 
Though the succeeding wave washes 
it out from the sand. 




Christus 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



INTROITUS 

The Angel bearing the Prophet 
Habakkuk through the air. 

PROPHET. 

Why dost thou bear me aloft, 

O Angel of God, on thy pinions 

O'er realms and dominions ? 

Softly I float as a cloud 

In air, for thy right hand upholds me, 

Thy garment enfolds me! 



ANGEL. 

Lo ! as I passed on my way 
In the harvest-field I beheld thee, 
When no man compelled thee, 
Bearing with thine own hands i 

This food to the famishing reapers, 
A flock without keepers I 

The fragrant sheaves of the wheat 
Made the air above them sweet ; 
Sweeter and more divine 
Was the scent of the scattered grain, 



472 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



That the reaper's hand let fall 


Hath been a strife 


To be gathered again 


And battle for the Truth ; 


By the hand of the gleaner ! 


Nor hast thou paused nor halted,. 


Sweetest, divinest of all, 20 


Nor ever in thy pride 


Was the humble deed of thine, 


Turned from the poor aside, 


And the meekness of thy demeanor ! 


But with deed and word and pen 




Hast served thy fellow-men ; 


PROPHET. 


Therefore art thou exalted ! 


Angel of Light, 




I cannot gainsay thee, 


PROPHET. 


I can but obey thee ! 


By thine arrow's light 70 




Thou goest onward through the night, 


ANGEL. 


And by the clear 


Beautiful was it in the Lord's sight, 


Sheen of thy glittering spear ! 


To behold his Prophet 


When will our journey end? 


Feeding those that toil, 




The tillers of the soil. 


ANGEL. 


But why should the reapers eat of it 30 


Lo, it is ended ! 


And not the Prophet of Zion 


Yon silver gleam 


In the den of the lion ? 


Is the Euphrates' stream. 


The Prophet should feed the Prophet ! 


Let us descend 


Therefore I thee have uplifted, 


Into the city splendid, 


And bear thee aloft by the hair 


Into the City of Gold! 80 


Of thy head, like a cloud that is 




drifted 


PROPHET. 


Through the vast unknown of the air! 


Behold! 




As if the stars had fallen from theii 


Five days hath the Prophet been 


places 


lying 


Into the firmament below, 


In Babylon, in the den 


The streets, the gardens, and the va- 


Of the lions, death-defying, 40 


cant spaces 


Defying hunger and thirst; 


With light are all aglow ; 


But the worst 


And hark ! 


Is the mockery of men! 


As we draw near, 


Alas ! how full of fear 


What sound is it I hear 


Is the fate of Prophet and Seer ! 


Ascending through the dark? 


Forevermore, forevermore, 




It shall be as it hath been heretofore ; 


ANGEL. 


The age in which they live 


The tumultuous noise of the nations, 


Will not forgive 


Their rejoicings and lamentations, 91 


The splendor of the everlasting light, 


The pleadings of their prayer, 


That makes their foreheads bright, 51 


The groans of their despair, 


Nor the sublime 


The cry of their imprecations, 


Fore-running of their time ! 


Their wrath, their love, their hate ! 


PROPHET. 


PROPHET. 


Oh tell me, for thou knowest, 


Surely the world doth wait 


Wherefore and by what grace, 


The coming of its Redeemer ! 


Have I, who am least and lowest, 




Been chosen to this place, 


ANGEL. 


To this exalted part ? 


Awake from thy sleep, dreamer ! 




The hour is near, though late; 


ANGEL. 


Awake ! write the vision sublime, 100 


Because thou art 


The vision, that is for a time, 


The Struggler; and from thy youth 60 


Though it tarry, wait; it is nigh; 


Thy humble and patient life 


In the end it will speak and not lie. 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



473 



PART ONE 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 
THE FIRST PASSOVER 



VOX CLAMANTIS 

JOHN THE BAPTIST. 

Repent ! repent ! repent ! 

For the kingdom of God is at hand, 

And all the land 

Full of the knowledge of the Lord 

shall be 
As the waters cover the sea, 
And encircle the continent ! 

Repent! repent! repent! 

For lo, the hour appointed, 

The hour so long foretold 

By the Prophets of old, 10 

Of the coming of the Anointed, 

The Messiah, the Paraclete, 

The Desire of the Nations, is nigh! 

He shall not strive nor cry, 

Nor his voice be heard in the street ; 

Nor the bruisSd reed shall He break, 

Nor quench the smoking flax ; 

And many of them that sleep 

In the dust of earth shall awake, 

On that great and terrible day, 20 

And the wicked shall wail and weep, 

And be blown like a smoke away, 

And be melted away like wax. 

Repent! repent! repent! 

O Priest, and Pharisee, 
Who hath warned you to flee 
From the wrath that is to be ? 
From the coming anguish and ire ? 
The axe is laid at the root 
Of the trees, and every tree 30 

That bringeth not forth good fruit 
Is hewn down and cast into the 
fire! 

Ye Scribes, why come ye hither ? 
In the hour that is uncertain, 
In the day of anguish and trouble, 
He that stretcheth the heavens as a 

curtain 
And spreadeth them out as a tent, 
Shall blow upon you, and ye shall 

wither, 



And the whirlwind shall take you 

away as stubble ! 
Repent ! repent 1 repent ! 

pkiest. 
Who art thou, O man of prayer ! 
In raiment of camel's hair, 
Begirt with leathern thong, 
That here in the wilderness, 
With a cry as of one in distress, 
Preachest unto this throng ? 
Art thou the Christ ? 

JOHN. 

Priest of Jerusalem, 

In meekness and humbleness, 

I deny not, I confess 

I am not the Christ ! 

PRIEST. 

What shall we say unto them 
That sent us here ? Reveal 
Thy name, and naught conceal! 
Art thou Elias ? 

JOHN. 

No! 

PRIEST. 

Art thou that Prophet, then, 
Of lamentation and woe, 
Who, as a symbol and sign 
Of impending wrath divine 
Upon unbelieving men, 
Shattered the vessel of clay 
In the Valley of Slaughter ? 



50 



JOHN. 



I am not he thou namest ! 



Nay. 



PRIEST. 

Who art thou, and what is the 

word 
That here thou proclaimest ? 

JOHN. 

I am the voice of one 

Crying in the wilderness alone: 

Prepare ye the way of the Lord ; 

Make his paths straight 

In the land that is desolate ! 70 

PRIEST. 

If thou be not the Christ, 
Nor yet Elias, nor he 



474 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



That, in sign of the things to be, 


II 


Shattered the vessel of clay 




In the Valley of Slaughter, 
Then declare unto us, and say 


MOUNT QUARANTANIA 


By what authority now 




Baptizest thou ? 


1 




LUCIFER. 


JOHN. 


Not in the lightning's flash, nor in the 


I indeed baptize you with water 


thunder, 


Unto repentance ; but He, 80 


Not in the tempest, nor the cloudy 


That cometh after me, 


storm, 


Is mightier than I and higher ; 


Will I array my form ; 


The latchet of whose shoes 


But part invisible these boughs asun- 


I am not worthy to unloose ; 


der, 


He shall baptize you with fire, 


And move and murmur, as the wind 


And with the Holy Ghost ! 


upheaves 


Whose fan is in his hand ; 


And whispers in the leaves. 


He will purge to the uttermost 




His floor, and garner his wheat, 


Not as a terror and a desolation, 


But will burn the chaff in the brand 90 


Not in my natural shape, inspiring 


And fire of unquenchable heat! 


fear 100 


Repent! repent! repent! 


And dread, will I appear ; 




By permission of Harper & Bros 



The Baptism of Christ 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



475 



But in soft tones of sweetness and per- 
suasion, 
A sound as of the fall of mountain 
streams, 
Or voices heard in dreams. 

He sitteth there in silence, worn and 

wasted 
With famine, and uplifts his hollow 

eyes 
To the unpitying skies ; 
For forty days and nights he hath 

not tasted 
Of food or drink, his parted lips are 

pale, 
Surely his strength must fail, no 

Wherefore dost thou in penitential 
fasting 

Waste and consume the beauty of thy 
youth ? 
Ah, if thou be in truth 

The Son of the Unnamed, the Ever- 
lasting, 

Command these stones beneath thy 
feet to be 
Changed into bread for thee ! 

CHRISTUS. 

'T is written : Man shall not live by 

bread alone, 
But by each word that from God's 

mouth proceedeth ! 



LUCIFER. 

Too weak, alas ! too weak is the temp- 
tation 
For one whose soul to nobler things 
aspires 120 

Than sensual desires ! 
Ah, could I, by some sudden aberra- 
tion, 
Lead and delude to suicidal death 
This Christ of Nazareth ! 

Unto the holy Temple on Moriah, 
With its resplendent domes, and mani- 
fold 
Bright pinnacles of gold, 
Where they await thy coming, O 

Messiah ! 
Lo, I have brought thee! Let thy 
glory here 
Be manifest and clear. 130 



Reveal thyself by royal act and gesture 
Descending with the bright trium- 
phant host 
Of all the highermost 
Archangels, and about thee as a vesture 
The shining clouds, and all thy splen- 
dors show 
Unto the world below ! 

Cast thyself down, it is the hour ap- 
pointed ; 

And God hath given his angels charge 
and care 
To keep thee and upbear 

Upon their hands his only Son, the 
Anointed, 140 

Lest he should dash his foot against a 
stone 
And die, and be unknown. 

CHRISTUS. 

'T is written : Thou shalt not tempt the 
Lord thy God! 

in 

LUCIFER. 

I cannot thus delude him to perdition! 
But one temptation still remains un- 
tried, 
The trial of his pride, 
The thirst of power, the fever of am- 
bition ! 
Surely by these a humble peasant's son 
At last may be undone ! 

Above the yawning chasms and deep 
abysses, 150 

Across the headlong torrents, I have 
brought 
Thy footsteps, swift as thought ; 

And from the highest of these pre- 
cipices. 

The Kingdoms of the world thine 
eyes behold, 
Like a great map unrolled. 

From far-off Lebanon, with cedars 
crested, 

To where the waters of the Asphalt 
Lake 
On its white pebbles break, 

And the vast desert, silent, sand-in- 
vested, 

These kingdoms all are mine, and thine 
shall be, 160 

If thou wilt worship me ! 



47 6 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



CHRISTUS. 

Get thee behind me, Satan! thou shalt 

worship 
The Lord thy God; Him only shalt 

thou serve ! 

ANGELS MINISTRANT. 

The sun goes down; the evening 

shadows lengthen, 
The fever and the struggle of the day 

Abate and pass away ; 
Thine Angels Ministrant, we come to 

strengthen 
And comfort thee, and crown thee 
with the palm, 
The silence and the calm. 



Ill 
THE MARRIAGE IN CANA 

THE MUSICIANS. 

Rise up, my love, my fair one, 170 

Rise up, and come away, 

For lo ! the winter is past, 

The rain is over and gone. 

The flowers appear on the earth, 

The time of the singing of birds is 

come, 
And the voice of the turtle is heard 

in our land. 

THE BRIDEGROOM. 

Sweetly the minstrels sing the Song 

of Songs ! 
My heart runs forward with it, and I 

say: 
Oh set me as a seal upon thine heart, 
And set me as a seal upon thine arm ; 
For love is strong as life, and strong 

as death, 181 

And cruel as the grave is jealousy ! 

THE MUSICIANS. 

I sleep, but my heart awaketh ; 
'Tis the voice of my beloved 
Who knocketh, saying : Open tome, 
My sister, my love, my dove, 
For my head is filled with dew, 
My locks with the drops of the 
night! 

THE BRIDE. 

Ah yes, I sleep, and yet my heart 

awaketh. 
It is the voice of my beloved who 

knocks. 190 



THE BRIDEGROOM. 

O beautiful as Rebecca at the foun- 
tain, 

O beautiful as Ruth among the 
sheaves ! 

O fairest among women! O unde- 
fined! 

Thou art all fair, my love, there 's no 
spot in thee ! 

THE MUSICIANS. 

My beloved is white and ruddy, 
The chief est among ten thousand ; 
His locks are black as a raven, 
His eyes are the eyes of doves, 
Of doves by the rivers of water, 
His lips are like unto lilies, 200 

Dropping sweet-smelling myrrh. 

ARCHITRICLINUS. 

Who is that youth with the dark azure 

eyes, 
And hair, in color like unto the wine, 
Parted upon his forehead, and behind 
Falling in flowing locks? 

PARANYMPHUS. 

The Nazarene 
Who preacheth to the poor in field 

and village 
The coming of God's Kingdom. 

ARCHITRICLINUS. 

How serene 
His aspect is ! manly yet womanly. 

PARANYMPHUS. 

Most beautiful among the sons of 

men! 
Oft known to weep, but never known 

to laugh. 210 

ARCHITRICLINUS. 

And tell me, she with eyes of olive 

tint, 
And skin as fair as wheat, and pale 

brown hair, 
The woman at his side? 

PARANYMPHUS. 

His mother, Mary. 

ARCHITRICLINUS. 

And the tall figure standing close be- 
hind them, 

Clad all in white, with face and beard 
like ashes, 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



477 




Beautiful as Rebecca at the fountain ' 



As if he were Elias, the White Wit- 
ness, 

Come from his cave on Carmel to fore- 
tell 

The end of all things ? 

PARANYMPHUS. 

That is Manahem 
The Essenian, he who dwells among 

the palms 
Near the Dead Sea. 

ARCHITRICLINUS. 

He who foretold to Herod 220 
He should one day be King? 

PARANYMPHUS. 

The same. 

ARCHITRICLINUS. 

Then why 
Doth he come here to sadden with his 

presence 
Our marriage feast, belonging to a 

sect 
Haters of women, and that taste not 

wine? 

THE MUSICIANS. 

My undefiled is but one, 
The only one of her mother, 



The choice of her that bare her ; 
The daughters saw and blessed her ; 
The queens and the concubines 

praised her ; 
Saying, Lo ! who is this 230 

That looketh forth as the morning ? 

manahem, aside. 
The Ruler of the Feast is gazing at 

me, 
As if he asked, why is that old man 

here 
Among the revellers? And thou, the 

Anointed ! 
Why art thou here? I see as in a 

vision 
A figure clothed in purple, crowned 

with thorns ; 
I see a cross uplifted in the darkness, 
And hear a cry of agony, that shall 

echo 
Forever and forever through the 

world ! 

ARCHITRICLINTJS. 

Give us more wine. These goblets 
are all empty. 24c 

MARY tO CHRISTUS. 

They have no wine ! 



478 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



CHRISTUS. 

O woman, what have I 
To do with thee ? Mine hour is not 
yet come. 

mart to the servants. 
Whatever he shall say to you, that 
do. 

CHRISTUS. 

Fill up these pots with water. 

THE MUSICIANS. 

Come, my beloved, 
Let us go forth into the field, 
Let us lodge in the villages ; 
Let us get up early to the vine- 
yards, 
Let us see if the vine flourish, 
Whether the tender grape appear, 
And the pomegranates bud forth. 251 

CHRISTUS. 

Draw out now 
And bear unto the Ruler of the Feast. 



MANAHEM, 

O thou, brought up among the Esse- 

nians, 
Nurtured in abstinence, taste not the 

wine! 
It is the poison of dragons from the 

vineyards 
Of Sodom, and the taste of death is in 

it ! 

ARCHITRICLTNUS to the BRIDEGROOM. 

All men set forth good wine at the be- 
ginning, 

And when men have well drunk, that 
which is worse ; 

But thou hast kept the good wine un- 
til now. 



MANAHEM, 

The things that have been and shall be 
no more, 260 

The things that are, and that hereafter 
shall be, 

The things that might have been, and 
yet were not, 

The fading twilight of great joys de- 
parted, 

The daybreak of great truths as yet 
unrisen, 

The intuition and the expectation 



Of something, which, when come, is 

not the same, 
But only like its forecast in men's 

dreams, 
The longing, the delay, and the de- 
light, 
Sweeter for the delay ; youth, hope, 

love, death, 
And disappointment which is also 

death, 270 

All these make up the sum of human 

life; 
A dream within a dream, a wind at 

night 
Howling across the desert in despair, 
Seeking for something lost it cannot 

find. 
Fate or foreseeing, or whatever name 
Men call it, matters not ; what is to 

be 
Hath been fore-written in the thought 

divine 
From the beginning. None can hide 

from it, 
But it will find him out; nor run 

from it, 
But it o'ertaketh him! The Lord 

hath said it. 280 

THE BRIDEGROOM to the BRIDE, OU the 

balcony. 
When Abraham went with Sarah into 

Egypt, 
The land was all illumined with her 

beauty ; 
But thou dost make the very night it- 
self 
Brighter than day ! Behold, in glad 

procession, 
Crowding the threshold of the sky 

above us, 
The stars come forth to meet thee with 

their lamps ; 
And the soft winds, the ambassadors 

of flowers, 
From neighboring gardens and from 

fields unseen, 
Come laden with odors unto thee, my 

Queen ! 

THE MUSICIANS. 

Awake, O north-wind, 290 

And come, thou wind of the South. 
Blow, blow upon my garden, 
That the spices thereof may flow 
out. 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



479 




But thou dost make the very night itself 
Brighter than day ! " 



IN THE CORNFIELDS • 

PHILIP. 

Onward through leagues of sun-illu- 
mined corn, 

As if through parted seas, the path- 
way runs, 

An d crowned with sunshine as the 
Prince of Peace 

Walks the beloved Master, leading 
us, 

As Moses led our fathers in old times 

Out of the land Of bondage ! We have 
found 

Him of whom Moses and the Prophets 
wrote, 300 

Jesus of Nazareth, the Son of Joseph. 

NATHANAEL. 

Can any good come out of Nazareth ? 
Can this be the Messiah? 



PHILIP. 



Come and see. 



NATHANAEL. 

The summer sun grows hot : I am an- 
hungered. 

How cheerily the Sabbath-breaking 
quail 



Pipes in the corn, and bids us to his 
Feast 

Of Wheat Sheaves ! How the bearded, 
ripening ears 

Toss in the rootless temple of the air ; 

As if the unseen hand of some High- 
Priest 

Waved them before Mount Tabor as 
an altar! 310 

It were no harm, if we should pluck 
and eat. 

PHILIP. 

How wonderful it is to walk abroad 
With the Good Master! Since the 

miracle 
He wrought at Cana, at the marriage 

feast, 
His fame hath gone abroad through 

all the land, 
And when we come to Nazareth, thou 

shalt see 



480 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



How his own people will receive their 

Prophet, 
And hail him as Messiah! See, he 

turns 
And looks at thee. 

CHRISTUS. 

Behold an Israelite 
In whom there is no guile. 

NATHANAEL. 

Whence knowest thou me ? 320 

CHRISTUS. 

Before that Philip called thee, when 

thou wast 
Under the fig-tree, I beheld thee. 

NATHAN AEL. 

Rabbi ! 
Thou art the Son of God, thou art the 

King 
Of Israel! 

CHRISTUS. 

Because I said I saw thee 

Under the fig-tree, before Philip 
called thee, 

Believest thou? Thou shalt see 
greater things. 

Hereafter thou shalt see the heavens 
unclosed, 

The angels of God ascending and de- 
scending 

Upon the Son of Man ! 

Pharisees, passing. 

Hail, Rabbi! 

CHRISTUS. 

Hail ! 

PHARISEES. 

Behold how thy disciples do a thing 
Which is not lawful on the Sabbath- 
day, 331 
And thou f orbiddest them not ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Have ye not read 
What David did when he anhungered 

was, 
And all they that were with him? 

How he entered 
Into the house of God, and ate the 

shew -bread, 
Which was not lawful, saving for the 

priests ? 



Have ye not read, how on the Sab- 
bath-days 
The priests profane the Sabbath in the 

Temple, 
And yet are blameless ? But I say to 

you, 
One in this place is greater than the 

Temple ! 340 

And had ye known the meaning of the 

words, 
I will have mercy and not sacrifice, 
The guiltless ye would not condemn. 

The Sabbath 
Was made for man, and not man for 

the Sabbath. 
-Passes on with the disciples. 

PHARISEES. 

This is, alas! some poor demoniac 
Wandering about the fields, and utter- 
ing 
His unintelligible blasphemies 
Among the common people, who re- 
ceive 
As prophecies the words they compre- 
hend not ! 349 
Deluded folk ! The incomprehensible 
Alone excites their wonder. There is 

none 
So visionary, or so void of sense, 
But he will find a crowd to follow him ! 



V 
NAZARETH 

christus, reading in the Synagogue. 

The Spirit of the Lord God is upon 
me. 

He hath anointed me to preach good 
tidings 

Unto the poor; to heal the broken- 
hearted ; 

To comfort those that mourn, and to 
throw open 

The prison doors of captives, and pro- 
claim 

The Year Acceptable of the Lord, our 
God! 
He closes the book and sits down. 

A PHARISEE. 

Who is this youth? He hath taken 
the Teacher's seat ! 360 

Will he instruct the Elders ? 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



481 



A PRIEST. 

Fifty years 
Have I been Priest here in the Syna- 
gogue, 
And never have I seen so young a 

man 
Sit in the Teacher's seat! 

CHFvISTUS. 

Behold, to-day 

This scripture is fulfilled. One is ap- 
pointed 

And hath been sent to them that 
mourn in Zion, 

To give them beauty for ashes, and 
the oil 

Of joy for mourning ! They shall 
build again 

The old waste-places ; and again raise 
up 

The former desolations, and repair 37 o 

The cities that are wasted ! As a bride- 
groom 

Decketh himself with ornaments ; as a 
bride 

Adorneth herself with jewels, so the 
Lord 

Hath clothed me with the robe of 
righteousness ! 

A PRIEST. 

He speaks the Prophet's words; but 

with an air 
As if himself had been foreshadowed 

in them ! 

CHRISTUS. 

For Zion's sake I will not hold my 

peace, 
And for Jerusalem's sake I will not 

rest 
Until its righteousness be as a bright- 



And its salvation as a lamp that burn- 
etii ! 380 

Thou shalt be called no longer the For- 
saken, 

Nor any more thy land the Desolate. 

The Lord hath sworn, by his right 
hand hath sworn, 

And by his arm of strength : I will no 
more 

Give to thine enemies thy corn as 
meat ; 

The sons of strangers shall not drink 
thy wine. 



Go through, go through the gates! 

Prepare a way 
Unto the people! Gather out the 

stones ! 
Lift up a standard for the people ! 



A PRIEST. 

These are seditious words ! 



Ah! 



CHRISTUS. 

And they shall call them 
The holy people; the redeemed of 

God! 391 

And thou, Jerusalem, shalt be called 

Sought out, 
A city not forsaken ! 

A PHARISEE. 

Is not this 
The carpenter Joseph's son? Is not 

his mother 
Called Mary ? and his brethren and his 

sisters 
Are they not with us ? Doth he make 

himself 
To be a Prophet ? 

CHRISTUS. 

No man is a Prophet 
In his own country, and among his 

kin. 
In his own house no Prophet is ac- 
cepted. 
I say to you, in the land of Israel 400 
Were many widows in Elijah's day, 
When for three years and more the 

heavens were shut, 
And a great famine was throughout 

the land ; 
But unto no one was Elijah sent 
Save to Sarepta, to a city of Sidon, 
And to a woman there that was a 

widow. 
And many lepers were there in the 

land 
Of Israel, in the time of Eliseus 
The Prophet, and yet none of them 

was cleansed, 409 

Save Naaman the Syrian ! 

A PRIEST. 

Say no more ! 
Thou comest here into our Synagogue 
And speakest to the Elders and the 

Priests, 



482 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



As if the very mantle pf Elijah 
Had fallen upon thee! Art thou not 
ashamed ? 

A PHAKISEE. 

We want no Prophets here ! Let him 

be driven 
From Synagogue and city ! Let him 

go 
And prophesy to the Samaritans ! 

AN ELDER. 

The world is changed. We Elders are 

as nothing ! 
We are but yesterdays, that have no 

part 
Or portion in to-day ! Dry leaves that 

rustle, 420 

That make a little sound, and then are 

dust ! 

A PHARISEE. 

A carpenter's apprentice! a mechanic, 
Whom we have seen at work here in 

the town 
Day after day ; a stripling without 

learning, 
Shall he pretend to unfold the Word 

of God 
To men grown old in study of the 

Law? 
Christus is thrust out. 



VI 
THE SEA OF GALILEE 



Peter and Andrew mending their 
nets. 

PETER. 

Never was such a marvellous draught 
of fishes 

Heard of in Galilee! The market- 
places 

Both of Bethsaida and Capernaum 

Are full of them! Yet we had toiled 
all night 430 

And taken nothing, when the Master 
said: 

Launch out into the deep, and cast 
your nets ; 

And doing this, we caught such multi- 
tudes, 

Our nets like spiders' webs were 
snapped asunder, 



And with the draught we filled two 

ships so full 
That they began to sink. Then I 

knelt down 
Amazed, and said : O Lord, depart 

from me, 
I am a sinful man. And he made 

answer : 
Simon, fear not ; henceforth thou shalt 

catch men ! 439 

What was the meaning of those words ? 

ANDREW. 

I know not. 

But here is Philip, come from Naz- 
areth. 

He hath been with the Master. Tell 
us, Philip, 

What tidings dost thou bring ? 

PHILIP. 

Most wonderful ! 
As we drew near to Nain, out of the 

gate 
Upon a bier was carried the dead 

body 
Of a young man, his mother's only 

son, 
And she a widow, who with lamenta- 
tion 
Bewailed her loss, and the much 

people with her ; 
And when the Master saw her he was 

filled 
With pity ; and he said to her : Weep 

not ! 450 

And came and touched the bier, and 

they that bare it 
Stood still ; and then he said : Young 

man, arise ! 
And he that had been dead sat up, and 

soon 
Began to speak ; and he delivered him 
Unto his mother. And there came a 

fear 
On all the people, and they glorified 
The Lord, and said, rejoicing : A 

great Prophet 
Is risen up among us ! and the Lord 
Hath visited his people ! 

PETER. 

A great Prophet ? 
Ay, greater than a Prophet: greater 
even 460 

Than John the Baptist' 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



483 



PHILIP. 


Clouds carried with a tempest, unto 


Yet the Nazarenes 


whom 


Rejected him. 


The mist of darkness is reserved for- 
ever! 


PETER. 


The Nazarenes are dogs ! 


PHILIP. 


As natural brute beasts, they growl at 


Behold he cometh. There is one man 


things 


with him 


They do not understand; and they 


I am amazed to see ! 


shall perish, 




Utterly perish in their own corruption. 


ANDREW. 


The Nazarenes are dogs ! 


What man is that ? 


PHILIP. 


PHILIP. 


They drave him forth 


Judas Iscariot ; he that cometh last, 


Out of their Synagogue, out of their 


Girt with a leathern apron. No one 


city-, 


knoweth 


And would have cast him down a pre- 


His history ; but the rumor of him is 


cipice, 


He had an unclean spirit in his youth. 


But, passing through the midst of 


It hath not left him yet. 


them, he vanished 469 




Out of their hands. 


christus, passing. 




Come unto me, 


PETER. 


All ye that labor and are heavy 


Wells are they without water, 


laden, 480 




Christ and the Fishermen 



4 8 4 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



And I will give you rest ! Come unto 

me, 
And take my yoke upon you and learn 

of me, 
For I am meek, and I am lowly in 

heart, 
And ye shall all find rest unto your 

souls ! 

PHILIP. 

Oh, there is something in that voice 

that reaches 
The innermost recesses of my spirit ! 
I feel that it might say unto the blind : 
Receive your sight ! and straightway 

they would see ! 
I feel that it might say unto the dead, 
Arise ! and they would hear it and 

obey ! 490 

Behold, he beckons to us ! 

CHRISTUS to PETER and ANDREW. 

Follow me ! 

PETER. 

Master, I will leave all and follow 
thee. 

VII 

THE DEMONIAC OF GADARA 

A GADARENE. 

He hath escaped, hath plucked his 

chains asunder, 
And broken his fetters ; always night 

and day 
Is in the mountains here, and in the 

tombs, 
Crying aloud, and cutting himself with 

stones, 
Exceeding fierce, so that no man can 

tame him ! 

the demoniac from above, unseen. 
O Aschmedai! O Aschmedai, have 
pity! 

A GADARENE. 

Listen ! It is his voice ! Go warn the 

people 
Just landing from the lake ! 

THE DEMONIAC 

O Aschmedai ! 

Thou angel of the bottomless pit, 

have pity ! 501 

It was enough to hurl King Solomon, 



On whom be peace! two hundred 

leagues away 
Into the country, and to make him 

scullion 
In the kitchen of the King of Maschke- 

men ! 
Why dost thou hurl me here among 

these rocks, 
And cut me with these stones ? 

A GADARENE. 

He raves and mutters 
He knows not what. 

the demoniac, appearing from a tomb 
among the rocks. 

The wild cock Tarnegal 

Singeth to me, and bids me to the 
banquet, 

Where all the Jews shall come ; for 
they have slain 5IO 

Behemoth the great ox, who daily 
cropped 

A thousand hills for food, and at a 
draught 

Drank up the river Jordan, and have 
slain 

The huge Leviathan, and stretched 
his skin 

Upon the high walls of Jerusalem, 

And made them shine from one end of 
the world 

Unto the other; and the fowl Bar- 
juchne, 

Whose outspread wings eclipse the 
sun, and make 

Midnight at noon o'er all the conti- 
nents! 

And we shall drink the wine of Para- 
dise 520 

From Adam's cellars. 

A GADARENE. 

O thou unclean spirit ! 

the demoniac, hurling down a stone. 

This is the wonderful Barjuchne's 
egg, 

That fell out of her nest, and broke to 
pieces 

And swept away three hundred cedar- 
trees, 

And threescore villages ! — Rabbi Eli- 
ezer, 

How thou didst sin there in that sea- 
port town 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



485 



When thou hadst carried safe thy 

chest of silver 
Over the seven rivers for her sake ! 
I too have sinned beyond the reach of 

pardon. 
Ye hills and mountains, pray for 

mercy on me! 530 

Ye stars and planets, pray for mercy 

on me ! 
Ye sun and moon, oh pray for mercy 

on me! 
Christus and his disciples pass. 

A GADARENE. 

There is a man here of Decapolis, 
Who hath an unclean spirit ; so that 

none 
Can pass this way. He lives among 

the tombs 
Up there upon the cliffs, and hurls 

down stones 
On those who pass beneath. 

CHRISTUS. 

Come out of him, 
Thou unclean spirit ! 

THE DEMONIAC. 

What have I to do 
With thee, thou Son of God ? Do not 
torment us. 

CHRISTUS. 

What is thy name ? 

THE DEMONIAC. 

Legion ; for we are many. 
Cain, the first murderer ; and the 

King Belshazzar, 541 

And Evil Merodach of Babylon, 
And Admatha, the death-cloud, prince 

of Persia ; 
And Aschmedai, the angel of the 

pit, 
And many other devils. We are 

Legion. 
Send us not forth beyond Decapolis ; 
Command us not to go into the deep! 
There is a herd of swine here in the 

pastures, 
Let us go into them. 

CHRISTUS. 

Come out of him, 
Thou unclean spirit 1 



A GADARENE. 

See, how stupefied 
How motionless he stands ! He cries 

no more; 551 

He seems bewildered and in silence 

stares 
As one who, walking in his sleep, 

awakes 
And knows not where he is, and looks 

about him, 
And at his nakedness, and is ashamed. 

THE DEMONIAC. 

Why am I here alone among the 

tombs ? 
What have they done to me, that I am 

naked? 
Ah, woe is me ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Go home unto thy friends 
And tell them how great things the 

Lord hath done 
For thee, and how He had compassion 

on thee ! 560 

a swineherd, running. 

The herds ! the herds ! O most un- 
lucky day ! 

They were all feeding quiet in the 
sun, 

When suddenly they started, and grew 



As the wild boars of Tabor, and to- 
gether 

Rushed down a precipice into the 
sea ! 

They are all drowned ! 

PETER. 

Thus righteously are punished 
The apostate Jews, that eat the flesh 

of swine, 
And broth of such abominable things ! 

GREEKS OP GADARA. 

We sacrifice a sow unto Demeter 

At the beginning of harvest, and 
another 570 

To Dionysus at the vintage-time. 

Therefore we prize our herds of swine, 
and count them 

Not as unclean, but as things conse- 
crate 

To the immortal gods. O great ma- 
gician, 



4 86 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Depart out of our coasts ; let us alone, 
We are afraid of thee. 



Let us depart ; 
For they that sanctify and purify 
Themselves in gardens, eating flesh of 

swine, 
And the abomination, and the mouse, 
Shall be consumed together, saith the 

Lord ! 580 

VIII 
TALITHA CUMI 

jairus at the feet of christus. 

Master ! I entreat thee ! I implore 

theel 
My daughter lieth at the point of 
death ; 

1 pray thee come and lay thy hands 

upon her, 
And she shall live ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Who was it touched my garments ? 

SIMON PETER. 

Thou seest the multitude that throng 

and press thee, 
And say est thou: Who touched me? 

'T was not I. 

CHRISTUS. 

Some one hath touched my garments ; 

I perceive 
That virtue is gone out of me. 

A WOMAN. 

O Master! 

Forgive me ! For I said within my- 
self, 

If I so much as touch his garment's 
hem, 590 

I shall be whole. 

CHRISTUS. 

Be of good comfort, daughter ! 
Thy faith hath made thee whole. 
Depart in peace. 

a messenger from the house. 
Why troublest thou the Master ? 
Hearest thou not 



The flute -players, and the voices of the 

women 
Singing their lamentation ? She is 

dead ! 

THE MINSTRELS AND MOURNERS. 

We have girded ourselves with sack- 
cloth ! 

We have covered our heads with 
ashes ! 

For our young men die, and our 
maidens 

Swoon in the streets of the city ; 

And into their mother's bosom 600 

They pour out their souls like water ! 

christus, going in. 
Give place. Why make ye this ado, 

and weep ? 
She is not dead, but sleepeth. 

the mother, from within. 

Cruel Death! 
To take away from me this tender 

blossom ! 
To take away my dove, my lamb, my 
darling ! 

THE MINSTRELS AND MOURNERS. 

He hath led me and brought into dark- 
ness, 

Like the dead of old in dark places ! 

He hath bent his bow, and hath set 
me 

Apart as a mark for his arrow ! 

He hath covered himself with a 
cloud, 610 

That our prayer should not pass 
through and reach him ! 

THE CROWD. 

He stands beside her bed ! He takes 

her hand ! 
Listen, he speaks to her ! 

christus, within. 

Maiden, arise! 

THE CROWD. 

See, she obeys his voice ! She stirs ! 

She lives! 
Her mother holds her folded in her 

arms ! 
O miracle of miracles ! O marvel ! 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 




" Maiden, arise ! 



IX 



THE TOWER OF MAGDALA 
MARY MAGDALENE. 

Companionless, unsatisfied, forlorn, 
I sit here in this lonely tower, and 

look 
Upon the lake below me, and the hills 
That swoon with heat, and see as in 

a vision 620 

All my past life unroll itself before 

me. 
The princes and the merchants come 

tc me, 



Merchants of Tyre and Princes of 

Damascus, 
And pass, and disappear, and are no 

more; 
But leave behind their merchandise 

and jewels, 
Their perfumes, and their gold, and 

their disgust. 
I loathe them, and the very memory of 

them 
Is unto me as thought of food to one 
Cloyed with the luscious figs of Dal- 

manutha ! 
What if hereafter, in the long here- 
after 630 



488 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Of endless joy or pain, or joy in pain, 
It were my punishment to be with 

them 
Grown hideous and decrepit in their 

sins, 
And hear them say : Thou that hast 

brought us here, 
Be unto us as thou hast been of old! 
I look upon this raiment that I wear, 
These silks, and these embroideries, 

and they seem 
Only as cerements wrapped about my 

limbs ! 
I look upon these rings thick set with 

pearls, 
And emerald and amethyst and jas- 
per, 640 
And they are burning coals upon my 

flesh ! 
This serpent on my wrist becomes 

alive ! 



Away, thou viper ! and away, ye 
garlands, 

Whose odors bring the swift remem- 
brance back 

Of the unhallowed revels in these 
chambers ! 

But yesterday, — and yet it seems to 
me 

Something remote, like a pathetic 
song 

Sung long ago by minstrels in the 
street, — 

But yesterday, as from this tower I 
gazed, 649 

Over the olive and the walnut trees, 

Upon the lake and the white ships, 
and wondered 

Whither and whence they steered, 
and who was in them, 

A fisher's boat drew near the landing- 
place 




" Companion] ess, unsatisfied, forlorn, 
I sit here in this lonely tower " 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



489 



Under the oleanders, and the people 

Came up from it, and passed beneath 
the tower, 

Close under me. In front of them, as 
leader, 

Walked one of royal aspect, clothed in 
white, 

Who lifted up his eyes, and looked at 
me, 

And all at once the air seemed filled 
and living 

With a mysterious power, that 
streamed from him, 660 

And overflowed me with an atmos- 
phere 

Of light and love. As one entranced 
I stood, 

And when I woke again, lo! he was 
gone; 

So that I said : Perhaps it is a dream. 

But from that very hour the seven de- 
mons 

That had their habitation in this 
body 

Which men call beautiful, departed 
from me! 

This morning, when the first gleam of 
the dawn 

Made Lebanon a glory in the air, 

And all below was darkness, I beheld 

An angel, or a spirit glorified, 671 

With wind-tossed garments walking 
on the lake. 

The face I could not see, but I distin- 
guished 

The attitude and gesture, and I knew 

'T was he that healed me. And the 
gusty wind 

Brought to mine ears a voice, which 
• seemed to say : 

Be of good cheer ! 'T is I! Be not 
afraid ! 

And from the darkness, scarcely heard, 
the answer : 

If it be thou, bid me come unto thee 

Upon the water ! And the voice said : 
Come ! 680 

And then I heard a cry of fear : Lord, 
save me ! 

As of a drowning man. And then 
the voice : 

Why didst thou doubt, O thou of lit- 
tle faith ! 

At this all vanished, and the wind 
was hushed, 



And the great sun came up above the 
hills, 

And the swift-flying vapors hid them- 
selves 

In caverns among the rocks! Oh, I 
must find him 

And follow him, and be with him for- 
ever ! 

Thou box of alabaster, in whose walls 
The souls of flowers lie pent, the pre- 
cious balm 690 
And spikenard of Arabian farms, the 

spirits 
Of aromatic herbs, ethereal natures 
Nursed by the sun and dew, not all 

unworthy 
To bathe his consecrated feet, whose 

step 
Makes every threshold holy that he 

crosses ; 
Let us go forth upon our pilgrimage, 
Thou and I only ! Let us search for 

him 
Until we find him, and pour out our 

souls 
Before his feet, till all that's left of us 
Shall be the broken caskets that once 

held us ! 700 



THE HOUSE OF SIMON THE 
PHARISEE 

a ouest at table. 

Are ye deceived? Have any of the 
Rulers 

Believed on him ? or do they know in- 
deed 

This man to be the very Christ ? How- 
beit 

We know whence this man is, but 
when the Christ 

Shall come, none knoweth whence he 
is. 

CHRISTUS. 

Whereunto shall I liken, then, the 

men 
Of this generation ? and what are 

they like ? 
They are like children sitting in the 

markets, 
And calling unto one another, saying : 



49° 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



We have piped unto you, and ye have 
not danced ; 710 

We have mourned unto you, and ye 
have not wept ! 

This say I unto you, for John the 
Baptist 

Came neither eating bread nor drink- 
ing wine ; 

Ye say he hath a devil. The Son of 
Man 

Eating and drinking cometh, and ye 
say: 

Behold a gluttonous man, and a wine- 
bibber ; 

Behold a friend of publicans and sin- 
ners ! 

a guest aside to simon. 
Who is that woman yonder, gliding in 
So silently behind him ? 

SIMON. 

It is Mary, 

Who dwelleth in the Tower of Mag- 

dala. 720 

THE GUEST. 

See, how she kneejs there weeping, 

and her tears 
Fall on his feet ; and her long, golden 

hair 
Waves to and fro and wipes them dry 

again. 
And nowshekissesthem, and from abox 
Of alabaster is anointing them 
With precious ointment, filling all the 

house 
With its sweet odor ! 

simon, aside. 

Oh, this man, forsooth, 
Were he indeed a Prophet, would 

have known 
Who and what manner of woman this 

maybe 
That toucheth him ! would know she 
is a sinner ! 730 

CHRISTUS. 

Simon, somewhat have I to say to 
thee. 

SIMON. 

Master, say on. 

CHRISTUS. 

A certain creditor 
Had once two debtors ; and the one 
of them 



Owed him five hundred pence; the 

other, fifty. 
They having naught to pay withal, he 

frankly 
Forgave them both. Now tell me 

which of them 
Will love him most ? 

SIMON. 

He, I suppose, to whom 
He most forgave. 

CHRISTUS. 

Yea, thou hast rightly judged. 
Seest thou this woman ? When thine 

house I entered, 
Thou gavest me no water for my 

feet, 740 

But she hath washed them with her 

tears, and wiped them 
With her own hair. Thou gavest me 

no kiss ; 
This woman hath not ceased, since I 

came in, 
To kiss my feet. My head with oil 

didst thou 
Anoint not; but this woman hath 

anointed 
My feet with ointment. Hence I say 

to thee, 
Her sins, which have been many, are 

forgiven, 
For she loved much. 

THE GUESTS. 

Oh, who, then, is this man 
That pardoneth also sins without 
atonement ? 

CHRISTUS. 

Woman, thy faith hath saved thee! 
Go in peace ! 75° 

THE SECOND PASSOYER 

I 

BEFORE THE GATES OF MACH^RUS 

MANAHEM. 

Welcome, O wilderness, and wel- 
come, night 
And solitude, and ye swift-flying stars 
That drift with golden sands the bar- 
ren heavens, 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



491 



Welcome once more ! The Angels of 

the Wind 
Hasten across the desert to receive me ; 
And sweeter than men's voices are to 

me 
The voices of these solitudes; the 

sound 
Of unseen rivulets, and the far-off cry 
Of bitterns in the reeds of water-pools. 
And lo ! above me, like the Prophet's 

arrow 10 

Shot from the eastern window, high 

in air 
The clamorous cranes go singing 

through the night. 

ye mysterious pilgrims of the air, 
Would I had wings that I might follow 

you! 

1 look forth from these mountains, and 

behold 
The omnipotent and omnipresent night, 
Mysterious as the future and the fate 
That hangs o'er all men's lives! I see 

beneath me 
The desert stretching to the Dead Sea 

shore, 
And westward, faint and far away, the 

glimmer 
Of torches on Mount Olivet, announ- 
cing 
The rising of the Moon of Passover. 
Like a great cross it seems, on which 

suspended, 
With head bowed down in agony, I see 
A human figure ! Hide, O merciful 

heaven, 
The awful apparition from my sight ! 

And thou, Machaerus, lifting high and 
black 

Thy dreadful walls against the rising 
moon, 

Haunted by demons and by appari- 
tions, 

Lilith, ajid Jezerhara, and Bedargon, 30 

How grim thou showest in the uncer- 
tain light, 

A palace and a prison, where King 
Herod 

Feasts with Herodias, while the Bap- 
tist John 

Fasts, and consumes his unavailing 
life! 

And in thy court-yard grows the un- 
tithed rue, 



Huge as the olives of Gethsemane, 
And ancient as the terebinth of Hebron, 
Coeval with the world. Would that 

its leaves 
Medicinal could purge thee of the 

demons 
That now possess thee, and the cun- 
ning fox 4<? 
That burrows in thy walls, contriving 
mischief ! 

Music is heard from within. 

Angels of God ! Sandalphon, thou that 
weavest 

The prayers of men into immortal gar- 
lands, 

And thou, Metatron, who dost gather 
up 

Their songs, and bear them to the 
gates of heaven, 

Now gather up together in your hands 

The prayers that fill this prison, and 
the songs 

That echo from the ceiling of this 
palace, 

And lay them side by side before God's 
* feet ! 

He enters the castle. 



II 
HEROD'S BANQUET-HALL 

MAN AHEM. 

Thou hast sent for me, O King, and I 
am here. so 

HEROD. 

Who art thou ? 

MAN AHEM. 

Manahem, the Essenian. 

HEROD. 

I recognize thy features, but what 

mean 
These torn and faded garments ? On 

thy road 
Have demons crowded thee, and 

rubbed against thee, 
And given thee weary knees ? A cup 

of wine ! 

MANAHEM. 

The Essenians drink no w T ine. 



492 



CHRISTUS : A MYSTERY 




Thou hast sent for me, O King, and I am here " 



HEROD. 

What wilt thou, then ? 

MANAHEM. 

Nothing. 

HEROD. 

Not even a cup of water ? 

MANAHEM. 

Nothing. 
Why hast thou sent for me ? 

HEROD. 

Dost thou remember 
One day when I, a schoolboy in the 

streets 
Of the great city, met thee on my way 
To school, and thou didst say to me : 

Hereafter 61 

Thou shalt be king ? 

MANAHEM. 

Yea, I remember it. 

HEROD. 

Thinking thou didst not know me, I 

replied : 
I am of humble birth ; whereat thou, 

smiling, 



Didst smite me with thy hand, and 
saidst again: 

Thou shalt be King; and let the 
friendly blows 

That Manahem hath given thee on 
this day 

Remind thee of the fickleness of for- 
tune. 



What more 



MANAHEM. 
HEROD. 

No more. 



MANAHEM. 

Yea, for I said to thee : 
It shall be well with thee if thou love 
justice 70 

And clemency towards thy fellow- 
men. 
Hast thou done this, O King ? 

HEROD. 

Go, ask my people. 

MANAHEM. 

And then, foreseeing all thy life, I 
added : 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



493 



But these thou wilt forget ; and at the 

end 
Of life the Lord will punish thee. 

HEROD. 

The end! 
When will that come ? For this I sent 

to thee. 
How long shall I still reign? Thou 

dost not answer ! 
Speak ! shall I reign ten years ? 

MAN AHEM. 

Thou shalt reign twenty, 
Nay, thirty years. I cannot name the 
end. 

HEROD. 

Thirty ? I thank thee, good Essen- 

ian ! 80 

This is my birthday, and a happier 

one 
Was never mine. We hold a banquet 

here. 
See, yonder are Herodias and her 

daughter. 

manahem, aside. 
'Tis said that devils sometimes take 

the shape 
Of ministering angels, clothed with 

air, 
That they may be inhabitants of 

earth, 
And lead man to destruction. Such 

are these. 

HEROD. 

Knowest thou John the Baptist ? 

manahem. 

Yea, I know him ; 
Who knows him not ? 

HEROD. 

Know, then, this John the Baptist 
Said that it was not lawful I should 

marry 90 

My brother Philip's wife, and John 

the Baptist 
Is here in prison. In my father's 

time 
Matthias Margaloth was put to death 
For tearing the golden eagle from its 

station 
Above the Temple Gate, — a slighter 

crime 



Than John is guilty of. These things 

are warnings 
To intermeddlers not to play with 

eagles, 
Living or dead. I think the Esseni- 

ans 
Are wiser, or more wary, are they 

not ? 

MANAHEM. 

The Essenians do not marry. 

HEROD. 

Thou hast given 100 
My words a meaning foreign to my 
thought. 

MANAHEM. 

Let me go hence, O King ! 

HEROD. 

Stay yet awhile, 
And see the daughter of Herodias 

dance. 
Cleopatra of Jerusalem, my mother, 
In her best days, was not more beau- 
tiful. 

Music. The Daughter of Herodias 
dances. 

HEROD. 

Oh, what was Miriam dancing with 

her timbrel, 
Compared to this one ? 

manahem, aside. 

O thou Angel of Death, 
Dancing at funerals among the wo- 
men, 
When men bear out the dead ! The 

air is hot 
And stifles me! Oh for a breath of 
air ! no 

Bid me depart, O King! 

HEROD. 

Not yet. Come hither, 
Salome, thou enchantress! Ask of 

me 
Whate'er thou wilt; and even unto 

the half 
Of all my kingdom, I will give it 

thee, 
As the Lord liveth 1 



494 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



daughter of herodias, kneeling. 
Give me here the head 
Of John the Baptist on this silver 
charger ! 

HEROD. 

Not that, dear child. I dare not ; for 

the people 
Regard John as a prophet. 

DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. 

Thou hast sworn it. 

HEROD. 

For mine oath's sake, then. Send 

unto the prison ; 119 

Let him die quickly. Oh, accursed oath ! 

MANAHEM. 

Bid me depart, O King ! 

HEROD. 

Good Man ah em, 
Give me thy hand. I love the Essen- 

ians. 
He's gone and hears me not! The 

guests are dumb, 
Awaiting the pale face, the silent 

witness. 
The lamps flare ; and the curtains of 

the doorways 
Wave to and fro as if a ghost were 

passing .! 
Strengthen my heart, red wine of 

Ascalon ! 



Ill 
UNDER THE WALLS OF MACH^RUS 

manahem, rushing out. 
Away from this Palace of sin ! 
The demons, the terrible powers 
Of the air, that haunt its towers 130 
And hide in its water-spouts, 
Deafen me with the din 
Of their laughter and their shouts 
For the crimes that are done within ! 

Sink back into the earth, 

Or vanish into the air, 

Thou castle of despair! 

Let it all be but a dream 

Of the things of monstrous birth, 



Of the things that only seem! 



140 



White Angel of the Moon, 
Onafiel ! be my guide 
Out of this hateful place 
Of sin and death, nor hide 
In yon black cloud too soon 
Thy pale and tranquil face ! 
A trumpet is blown from the walls. 

Hark ! hark ! It is the breath 

Of the trump of doom and death, 

From the battlements overhead 

Like a burden of sorrow cast 150 

On the midnight and the blast, 

A wailing for the dead, 

That the gusts drop and uplift! 

O Herod, thy vengeance is swift! 

Herodias, thou hast been 

The demon, the evil thing, 

That in place of Esther the Queen, 

In place of the lawful bride, 

Hast lain at night by the side 

Of Ahasuerus the king! 160 

The trumpet again. 
The Prophet of God is dead ! 
At a drunken monarch's call, 
At a dancing-woman's beck, 
They have severed that stubborn neck 
And into the banquet-hall 
Are bearing the ghastly head ! 
A body is thrown from the tower. 



170 



A torch of lurid red 

Lights the window with its glow ; 

And a white mass as of snow 

Is hurled into the abyss 

Of the black precipice, 

That yawns for it below ! 

O hand of the Most High, 

O hand of Adonai ! 

Bury it, hide it away 

From the birds and beasts of prey, 

And the eyes of the homicide, 

More pitiless than they, 

As thou didst bury of yore 

The body of him that died 180 

On the mountain of Peor ! 

Even now I behold a sign, 

A threatening of wrath divine, 

A watery, wandering star, 

Through whose streaming hair, and 
the white 

Unfolding garments of light, 

That trail behind it afar, 

The constellations shine ! 

And the whiteness and brightness ap- 
pear 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



495 



Like the Angel bearing the Seer 190 
By the hair of his head, in the 

might 
And rush of his vehement flight. 
And I listen until I hear 
From fathomless depths of the sky 
The voice of his prophecy 
Sounding louder and more near ! 

Malediction ! malediction ! 

May the lightnings of heaven fall 

On palace and prison wall, 

And their desolation be 200 

As the day of fear and affliction, 

As the day of anguish and ire, 

With the burning and fuel of fire, 

In the Valley of the Sea! 



IV 

NICODEMUS AT NIGHT 

NICODEMUS. 

The streets are silent. The dark 

houses seem 
Like sepulchres, in which the sleepers 

lie 
Wrapped in their shrouds, and for the 

moment dead. 
The lamps are all extinguished ; only 

one 
Burns steadily, and from the door its 

light 
Lies like a shining gate across the 

street. 210 




" Ah, should this be at last 
The long-expected Christ! " 



49 6 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



He waits for me. Ah, should this be 

at last 
The long-expected Christ! I see him 

there 
Sitting alone, deep - buried in his 

thought, 
As if the weight of all the world were 

resting 
Upon him, and thus bowed him down. 

O Rabbi, 
We know thou art a Teacher come 

from God, 
For no man can perform the miracles 
Thou dost perform, except the Lord 

be with him. 
Thou art a Prophet, sent here to pro- 
claim 
The Kingdom of the Lord. Behold in 

me 220 

A Ruler of the Jews, who long have 

waited 
The coming of that kingdom. Tell 

me of tt. 

CHRISTUS. 

Verily, verily I say unto thee, 
Except a man be born again, he can- 
not 
Behold the Kingdom of God! 

NICODEMUS. 

Be born again ? 
How can a man be born when he is 

old? 
Say, can he enter for a second time 
Into his mother's womb, and so be 

born? 

CHRISTUS. 

Verily I say unto thee, except 229 

A man be born of water and the 

spirit, 
He cannot enter into the Kingdom of 

God. 
For that which of the flesh is born, is 

flesh; 
And that which of the spirit is born, 

is spirit. 

NICODEHUS. 

We Israelites from the Primeval Man 
Adam Ahelion derive our bodies ; 
Our souls are breathings of the Holy 

Ghost. 
"No more than this we know, or need 

to know. 



CHRISTUS. 

Then marvel not, that I said unto 

thee 
Ye must be born again. 

NICODEMUS. 

The mystery 
Of birth and death we cannot compre- 
hend. 240 

CHRISTUS. 

The wind bloweth where it listeth, 

and we hear 
The sound thereof, but know not 

whence it cometh, 
Nor whither it goeth. So is every one 
Born of the spirit ! 

nicodemus, aside. 
How can these things be ? 
He seems to speak of some vague 

realm of shadows, 
Some unsubstantial kingdom of the 

air ! 
It is not this the Jews are waiting for, 
Nor can this be the Christ, the Son of 

David, 
Who shall deliver us ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Art thou a master 

Of Israel, and knowest not these 
things ? 250 

We speak that we do know, and testify 

That we have seen, and ye will not re- 
ceive 

Our witness. If I tell you earthly 
things, 

And ye believe not, how shall ye be- 
lieve, 

If I should tell you of things heavenly ? 

And no man hath ascended up to hea- 
ven, 

But He alone that first came down 
from heaven, 

Even the Son of Man which is in hea- 
ven! 

nicodemus, aside. 

This is a dreamer of dreams ; a vision- 
ary, 

Whose brain is overtasked, until he 
deems 260 

The unseen world to be a thing sub- 
stantial, 

And this we live in, an unreal vision! 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



497 



And yet his presence fascinates and 
fills me 

With wonder, and I feel myself ex- 
alted 

Into a higher region, and become 

Myself in part a dreamer of his dreams, 

A seer of his visions! 

CHRISTUS. 

And as Moses 
Uplifted the serpent in the wilderness, 
So must the Son of Man be lifted up ; 
That whosoever shall believe in Him 
Shall perish not, but have eternal life. 
He that believes in Him is not con- 
demned ; 272 
He that believes not, is condemned 
already. 

nicodemtjs, aside. 
He speaketh like a Prophet of the 
Lord! 

CHRISTUS. 

This is the condemnation ; that the 

light 
Is come into the world, and men loved 

darkness 
Rather than light, because their deeds 

are evil ! 



NICODEMTJS, 

Of me he speaketh ! He reproveth 

me, 
Because I come by night to question 

him! 

CHRISTUS. 

For every one that doeth evil deeds 
Hateth the light, nor cometh to the 
light, 281 

Lest he should be reproved. 

NicoDEMus, aside. 

Alas, how truly 
He readeth what is passing in my 
heart ! 

CHRISTUS. 

But he that doeth truth comes to the 
light, 

So that his deeds may be made mani- 
fest, 

That they are wrought in God. 



NICODEMUS. 



Alas! alas! 



BLIND BARTIMET^ 

BARTIMEUS. 

Be not impatient, Chilion ; it is plea- 
sant 
To sit here in the shadow of the walls 
Under the palms, and hear the hum of 

bees, 
And rumor of voices passing to and 

fro, 290 

And drowsy bells of caravans on their 

way 
To Sidon or Damascus. This is still 
The City of Palms, and yet the walls 

thou seest 
Are not the old walls, not the walls 

where Rahab 
Hid the two spies, and let them down 

by cords 
Out of the window, when the gates 

were shut, 
And it was dark. Those walls were 

overthrown 
When Joshua's army shouted, and 

the priests 
Blew with their seven trumpets. 

CHILION. 

When was that ? 

BARTIMEUS. 

O my sweet rose of Jericho, I know 
not. 300 

Hundreds of years ago. And over 
there 

Beyond the river, the great prophet 
Elijah 

Was taken by a whirlwind up to hea- 
ven 

In chariot of fire, with fiery horses. 

That is the plain of Moab; and be- 
yond it 

Rise the blue summits of Mount 
Abarim, 

Nebo and Pisgah and Peor, where 
Moses 

Died, whom the Lord knew face to 
face, and whom 

He buried in a valley, and no man 309 

Knows of his sepulchre unto this day. 

CHILION. 

Would thou could st see these places, 
as I see them. 



49 8 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



BABTIMEUS. 

I have iM)t seen a glimmer of the 

light 
Since thou wast born. I never saw 

thy face, 
And yet I seem to see it; and one 

day 
Perhaps shall see it; for there is a 

Prophet 
In Galilee, the Messiah, the Son of 

David, 
Who heals the blind, if I could only 

find him. 
I hear the sound of many feet ap- 
proaching, 
And voices, like the murmur of a 

crowd ! 
What seest thou? 

CHILION. 

A young man clad in white 320 
Is coming through the gateway, and 

a crowd 
Of people follow. 

BARTIMEUS. 

Can it be the Prophet ! 
O neighbors, tell nae who it is that 
passes? 

ONE OP THE CBOWD. 

Jesus of Nazareth. 

BAKTIMEUS, crying. 

O Son of David! 
Have mercy on me ! 

MANY OP THE CROWD. 

Peace, Blind Bartimeus ! 
Do not disturb the Master. 



bartimeus, crying more 

Son of David, 
Have mercy on me ! 

ONE OP THE CROWD. 

See, the Master stops. 
Be of good comfort; rise, He calleth 
( thee! 

bartimeus, casting away his cloak. 
Chilion ! good neighbors ! lead me on. 

CHRISTUS. 

What wilt thou 
That I should do to thee ? 



BARTIMEUS. 

Good Lord! my sight — 330 
That I receive my sight ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Receive thy sight ! 
Thy faith hath made thee whole ! 

THE CROWD. 

He sees again ! 

Christus passes on. The crowd gathers 
round Bartimeus. 

BARTIMEUS. 

I see again ; but sight bewilders me! 
Like a remembered dream, familiar 

things 
Come back to me. I see the tender 

sky 
Above me, see the trees, the city 

walls, 
And the old gateway, through whose 

echoing arch 
I groped so many years ; and you, my 

neighbors ; 
But know you by your friendly voices 

only. 
How beautiful the world is ! and how 

wide ! 340 

Oh, I am miles away, if I but look! 
Where art thou, Chilion ? 

CHILION. 

Father, I am here. 

BARTIMEUS. 

Oh let me gaze upon thy face, dear 

child ! 
For I have only seen thee with my 

hands ! 
How beautiful thou art! I should 

have known thee ; 
Thou hast her eyes whom we shall see 

hereafter ! 
O God of Abraham ! Elion ! Adonai ! 
Who art thyself a Father, pardon me 
If for a moment I have thee post- 
poned 
To the affections and the thoughts of 

earth, 350 

Thee, and the adoration that I owe 

thee, 
When by thy power alone these dark 

ened eyes 
Have been unsealed again to see thy 

light! 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



499 




" Good Lord ! my sight — 
That I receive my sight ! " 



VI 
JACOB'S WELL 

A SAMARITAN WOMAN. 

The sun is hot ; and the dry east-wind 

blowing 
Fills all the air with dust. The birds 

are silent ; 
Even the little fieldfares in the corn 
No longer twitter; only the grass- 
hoppers 
Sing their incessant song of sun and 

summer. 
I wonder who those strangers were I 

met 
Going into the city ? Galileans 360 
They seemed to me in speaking, when 

they asked 
The short way to the market-place. 

Perhaps 
They are fishermen from the lake ; or 

travellers, 
Looking to find the inn. And here is 

some one 



Sitting beside the well; another 
stranger ; 

A Galilean also by his looks. 

What can so many Jews be doing 
here 

Together in Samaria? Are they go- 
ing 

Up to Jerusalem to the Passover ? 369 

Our Passover is better here at Sycbem, 

For here is Ebal ; here is Gerizim, 

The mountain where our father Abra- 
ham 

Went up to offer Isaac ; here the 
tomb 

Of Joseph, — for they brought his 
bones from Egypt 

And buried them in this land, and it 
is holy. 

CHRISTUS. 

Give me to drink. 

SAMARITAN WOMAN. 

How can it be that thou, 
Being a Jew, askest to drink of me 



5°° 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Which am a woman of Samaria? 

You Jews despise us; have no deal- 
ings with us ; 

Make us a byword ; call us in deri- 
sion 380 

The silly folk of Sychar. Sir, how is 
it 

Thou askest drink of me ? 

CHEISTUS. 

If thou hadst known 
The gift of God, and who it is that 

sayeth 
Give me to drink, thou wouldst have 

asked of Him ; 
He would have given thee the living 

water. 

SAMARITAN WOMAN. 

Sir, thou hast naught to draw with, 

and the well 
Is deep ! Whence hast thou living 

water ? 
Say, art thou greater than our father 

Jacob, 
Which gave this well to us, and drank 

thereof 
Himself, and all his children and his 

cattle? 390 

CHRISTUS. 

Ah, whosoever drinketh of this water 
Shall thirst again; but whosoever 

drinketh 
The water I shall give him shall not 

thirst 
Forevermore, for it shall be within 

him 
A well of living water, springing up 
Into life everlasting. 

SAMARITAN WOMAN. 

Every day 
I must go to and fro, in heat and 

cold, 
And I am weary. Give me of this 

water, 
That I may thirst not, nor come here 

to draw. * 



CHRISTUS. 

Go call thy husband, woman, and 

400 



come hither. 



SAMARITAN WOMAN. 

I have no husband, Sir. 



CHRISTUS. 

Thou hast well said 
I have no husband. Thou hast had 

five husbands ; 
And he whom now thou hast is not 

thy husband. 

SAMARITAN WOMAN. 

Surely thou art a Prophet, for thou 
read est 

The hidden things of life ! Our fa- 
thers worshipped 

Upon this mountain Gerizim ; and ye 
say 

The only place in which men ought 
to worship 

Is at Jerusalem. 

CHRISTUS. 

Believe me, woman, 
The hour is coming, when ye neither 

shall 
Upon this mount, nor at Jerusalem, 410 
Worship the Father ; for the hour is 

coming, 
And is now come, when the true wor- 
shippers 
Shall worship the Father in spirit and 

in truth ! 
The Father seeketh such to worship 

Him. 
God is a spirit; and they that worship 

Him 
Must worship Him in spirit and in 

truth. 

SAMARITAN WOMAN. 

Master, I know that the Messiah com- 

eth, 
Which is called Christ ; and He will 

tell us all things. 

CHRISTUS. 

I that speak unto thee am He ! 
the disciples, returning. 

Behold, 

The Master sitting by the well, and 
talking 420 

With a Samaritan woman! With a 
woman 

Of Sychar, the silly people, always 
boasting 

Of their Mount Ebal, and Mount Geri- 
zim, 

Their Everlasting Mountain, which 
they think 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



Higher and holier than our Mount Mo- 
riah! 

Why, once upon the Feast of the New 
Moon, 

When our great Sanhedrim of Jeru- 
salem 

Had all its watch-fires kindled on the 
hills 

To warn the distant villages, these 
people 

Lighted up others to mislead the 
Jews, 430 

And make a mockery of their festi- 
val! 

See, she has left the Master; and is 
running 

Back to the city ! 

SAMARITAN WOMAN. 

Oh, come see a man 



CHRISTUS. 

I have food to eat 
Ye know not of. 

the disciples, to each otlier. 

Hath any man been here, 




Who hath told me all things that I 

ever did ! 
Say, is not this the Christ? 

THE DISCIPLES. 

Lo, Master, here 
Is food, that we have brought thee 

from the city. 
We pray thee eat it. 



5° 2 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



And brought Him aught to eat, while 
we were gone ? 439 

CHRISTUS. 

The food I speak of is to do the will 

Of Him that sent me, and to finish his 
work. 

Do ye not say, Lo ! there are yet four 
months 

And cometh harvest ? I say unto 
you, 

Lift up your eyes, and look upon the 
fields, 

For they are white already unto har- 
vest! 



VII 

THE COASTS OF CESAREA PHILIPPI 

christus, going up tlie mountain. 
Who do the people say I am ? 

JOHN. 

Some say 
That thou art John the Baptist ; some, 

Elias ; 
And others Jeremiah. 

JAMES. 

Or that one 
Of the old Prophets is arisen again. 449 

CHRISTUS. 

But who say ye I am ? 

PETER. 

Thou art the Christ ! 
Thou art the Son of God 1 

CHRISTUS. 

Blessed art thou, 
Simon Barjona ! Flesh and blood hath 

not 
Revealed it unto thee, but even my 

Father, 
Which is in Heaven. And I say unto 

thee 
That thou art Peter ; and upon this 

rock 
I build my Church, and all the gates 

of Hell 
Shall not prevail against it. But take 

heed 
Ye tell to no man that I am the Christ. 



For I must go up to Jerusalem, 

And suffer many things, and be re- 
jected 4 6o 

Of the Chief Priests, and of the Scribes 
and Elders, 

And must be crucified, and the third 
day 

Shall rise again ! 

PETER. 

Be it far from thee, Lord! 
This shall not be ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Get thee behind me, Satan ! 
Thou savorest not the things that be 

of God, 
But those that be of men ! If any 

will 
Come after me, let him deny himself, 
And daily take his cross, and follow 

me. 
For whosoever will save his life shall 

lose it, 
And whosoever will lose his life shall 

find it. 47 o 

For wherein shall a man be profited 
If he shall gain the whole world, and 

shall lose 
Himself or be a castaway ? 

james, after a long pause. 

Why doth 
The Master lead us up into this moun- 
tain? 

PETER. 

He goeth up to pray. 

JOHN. 

See, where He standeth 
Above us on the summit of the hill ! 
His face shines as the sun ! and all his 

raiment 
Exceeding white as snow, so as no 

fuller 
On earth can white them ! He is not 

alone ; 
There are two with Him there ; two 

men of eld, 480 

Their white beards blowing on the 

mountain air, 
Are talking with him. 

JAMES. 

I am sore afraid ! 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



503 



PETER. 

Who and whence are they ? 

JOHN. 

Moses and Elias ! 

PETER. 

Master! it is good for us to be 

here! 

If- thou wilt, let us make three taber- 
nacles ; 

For thee one, and for Moses and Elias ! 

JOHN. 

Behold a bright cloud sailing in the 

sun! 
It overshadows us. A golden mist 
Now hides them from us, and envelops 

us 
And all the mountain in a luminous 

shadow ! 490 

1 see no more. The nearest rocks are 

hidden. 

voice from the cloud. 
Lo! this is my belov&d Son! Hear 
Him! 

PETER. 

It is the voice of God. He speaketh 

to us, 
As from the burning bush He spake to 

Moses i 

JOHN. 

The cloud-wreaths roll away. The 

veil is lifted ; 
We see again. Behold ! He is alone. 
It was a vision that our eyes beheld, 
And it hath vanished into the unseen. 

christus, coming down from the moun- 
tain. 
I charge ye, tell the vision unto no 

one, 
Till the Son of Man be risen from the 

dead ! 500 

peter, aside. 
Again He speaks of it ! What can it 

mean, 
This rising from the dead ? 

JAMES. 

Why say the Scribes 
Elias must first come ? 



CHRISTUS. 

He cometh first, 
Restoring all things. But I say t© 

you, 
That this Elias is already come. 
They knew him not, but have done 

unto him 
Whate'er they listed, as is written of 

him. 



PETER, 

It is of John the Baptist He is speak- 
ing. 

JAMES. 

As we descend, see, at the mountain's 
foot, 

A crowd of people; coming, going, 
thronging 510 

Round the disciples, that we left be- 
hind us, 

Seeming impatient, that we stay so 
long. 

PETER. 

It is some blind man, or some para- 
lytic 

That waits the Master's coming to be 
healed. 

JAMES. 

I see a boy, who struggles and de- 
means him 
As if an unclean spirit tormented him ! 

a certain man, running forward. 
Lord ! I beseech thee, look upon my 

son. 
He is mine only child ; a lunatic, 
And sorely vexed ; for oftentimes he 

falleth 
Into the fire and oft into the water. 520 
Wherever the dumb spirit taketh him 
He teareth him. He gnasheth with 

his teeth, 
And pines away. I spake to thy dis- 
ciples 
That they should cast him out, and 
they could not. 

CHRISTUS. 

O faithless generation and perverse ! 
How long shall I be with you, and 

suffer you ? 
Bring thy son hither. 



5<H 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



BYSTANDERS. 

How the unclean spirit 
Seizes the boy, and tortures him with 

pain ! 
He falleth to the ground and wallows, 

foaming ! 529 

He cannot live. 

CHRISTUS. 

How long is it ago 
Since this came unto him ? 

THE FATHER. 

Even of a child. 
Oh, have compassion on us, Lord, and 

help us, 
If thou canst help us. 

CHRISTUS. 

If thou canst believe. 
For unto him that verily believeth, 
All things are possible. 

THE FATHER. 

Lord, I believe ! 
Help thou mine unbelief ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Dumb and deaf spirit, 
Come out of him, I charge thee, and 

no more 
Enter thou into him ! 
The hoy utters a loud cry of pain, and 
then lies still. 

BYSTANDERS. 

How motionless 

He lieth there. No life is left in him. 

His eyes are like a blind man's, that 

see not. 540 

The boy is dead ! 

OTHERS. 

Behold ! the Master stoops, 
And takes him by the hand, and lifts 

him up. 
He is not dead. 

DISCIPLES. 

But one word from those lips. 
But one touch of that hand, and he is 

healed ! 
Ah, why could we not do it ? 

THE FATHER. 

My poor child ! 
Now thou art mine again. The un- 
clean spirit 



Shall never more torment thee ! Look 

at me! 
Speak unto me !. Say that thou know- 

est me 1 

disciples to christus, departing. 
Good Master, tell us, for what reason 

was it 
We could not cast him out ? 550 

CHRISTUS. 

Because of your unbelief ! 

VIII 
THE YOUNG RULER 

CHRISTUS. 

Two men went up into the temple to 

pray. 
The one was a self-righteous Pharisee, 
The other a Publican. And the Phar- 
isee 
Stood and prayed thus within himself ! 

OGod, 
I thank thee I am not as other men, 
Extortioners, unjust, adulterers, 
Or even as this Publican. I fast 
Twice in the week, and also I give 

tithes 
Of all that I possess ! The Publican, 
Standing afar off, would not lift so 

much 560 

Even as his eyes to heaven, but smote 

his breast, 
Saying: God be merciful to me a 

sinner ! 
I tell you that this man went to his 

house 
More justified than the other. Every 

one 
That doth exalt himself shall be 

abased, 
And he that humbleth himself shall be 

exalted! 

children, among themselves. 
Let us go nearer ! He is telling stories! 
Let us £0 listen to them. 



AN OLD JEW. 

Children, children ! 
What are ye doing here ? Why do ye 

crowd us ? 
It was such little vagabonds as you, 570 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



505 




" And come, take up thy cross, and follow me " 



That followed Elisha, mocking him 

and crying : 
Go up, thou bald-head ! But the bears 

— the bears 
Came out of the wood, and tare them! 

A MOTHER. 

Speak not thus I 
We brought them here, that He might 

lay his hands 
On them, and bless them. 

CHRIST us. 

Suffer little children 
To come unto me, and forbid them 

not; 
Of such is the kingdom of heaven; 

and their angels 
Look always on my Father's face. 
Takes them in his arms and blesses them. 

A young ruler, running. 

Good Master ! 



What good thing shall I do, that I 
may have 579 

Eternal life ? 

CHRISTUS. 

Why callest thou me good ? 
There is none good but one, and that 

is God. 
If thou wilt enter into life eternal 
Keep the commandments. 

YOUNG RULER. 

Which of them ? 

CHRISTUS. 

Thou shalt not 
Commit adultery ; thou shalt not kill ; 
Thou shalt not steal ; thou shalt not 

bear false witness ; 
Honor thy father and thy mother ; and 

love 
Thy neighbor as thyself. 



506 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



YOUNG RULER. 

From my youth up 
All these things have I kept. What 
lack I yet ? 

JOHN. 

"With what divine compassion in his 

eyes 
The Master looks upon this eager 

youth, 590 

As if He loved him ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Wouldst thou perfect be, 
Sell all thou hast, and give it to the 

poor, 
And come, take up thy cross, and fol- 
low me, 
And thou shalt have thy treasure in 
the heavens. 

JOHN. 

Behold, how sorrowful he turns away ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Children ! how hard it is for them that 

trust 
In riches to enter into the kingdom of 

God ! 
'T is easier for a camel to go through 
A needle's eye, than for the rich to 

enter 599 

The kingdom of God ! 

JOHN. 

Ah, who then can be saved ? 

CHRISTUS. 

With men this is indeed impossible, 
But unto God all things are possible ! 

PETER. * 

Behold, we have left all, and followed 

thee. 
What shall we have therefor ? 



Eternal life. 



CHRISTUS. 

IX 

AT BETHANY 

Martha busy about household affairs. 
Mary sitting at the feet ^/Christus. 

MARTHA. 

She sitteth idly at the Master's feet, 
And troubles not herself with house- 
hold cares. 



'T is the old story. When a guest ar- 
rives 

She gives up all to be with him; 
while I 

Must be the drudge, make ready the 
guest-chamber, 

Prepare the food, set everything in 
order, 610 

And see that naught is wanting in the 
house. 

She shows her love by words, and I 
by works. 

MARY. 

Master! when thou comest, it is 

always 
A Sabbath in the house. I cannot 
work ; 

1 must sit at thy feet ; must see thee, 

hear thee ! 
I have a feeble, wayward, doubting 

heart, 
Incapable of endurance or great 

thoughts, 
Striving for something that it cannot 

reach, 
Baffled and disappointed, wounded, 

hungry ; 
And only when I hear thee am I 

happy, 620 

And only when I see thee am at peace ! 
Stronger than I, and wiser, and far 

better 
In every manner, is my sister Martha. 
Thou seest how well she orders every- 
thing 
To make thee welcome ; how she 

comes and goes, 
Careful and cumbered ever with much 

serving, 
While I but welcome thee with foolish 

words ! 
Whene'er thou speakest to me, I am 

happy ; 
When thou art silent, I am satisfied. 
Thy presence is enough. I ask no 

more. 630 

Only to be with thee, only to see thee, 
Sufficeth me. My heart is then at rest. 
I wonder I am worthy of so much. 

MARTHA. 

Lord, dost thou care not that my sister 

Mary 
Hath left me thus to wait on thee 

alone ? 
I pray thee, bid her help me. 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



507 



CHRISTUS. 


A JEW. 


Martha, Martha, 


Here is a man who hath been blind 


Careful and troubled about many 


from birth, 


things 


And now he sees. He says a man 


Art thou, and yet one thing alone is 


called Jesus 


needful ! 


Hath healed him. 


Thy sister Mary hath chosen that good 

part, 
Which never shall be taken away from 


PHARISEES. 


As God liveth, the Nazarene! 


her ! 640 


How was this done ? 




THE BEGGAR, 


X 


Rabboni, he put clay 




Upon mine eyes ; I washed, and now 


BORN BLIND 


I see. 


A JEW. 


PHARISEES. 


Who is this beggar blinking in the 


When did he this ? 


sun ? 




Is it not he who used to sit and beg 


THE BEGGAR. 


By the Gate Beautiful ? 


Rabboni, yesterday. 


ANOTHER. 


PHARISEES. 


It is the same. 


The Sabbath day. This man is not 




of God 


A THIRD. 


Because he keepeth not the Sabbath 


It is not he, but like him, for that 


day ! 660 


beggar 




Was blind from birth. It cannot be 


A JEW. 


the same. 


How can a man that is a sinner do 




Such miracles ? 


THE BEGGAR. 




Yea, I am he. 


PHARISEES. 




What dost thou say of him 


A JEW. 


That hath restored thy sight ? 


How have thine eyes been opened ? 






THE BEGGAR. 


THE BEGGAR. 


He is a Prophet. 


A man that is called Jesus made a 




clay 


A JEW. 


And put it on mine eyes, and said to 


This is a wonderful story, but not 


me: 


true. 


Go to Siloam's Pool and wash thyself. 


A beggar's fiction. He was not born 


I went and washed, and I received my 


blind, 


sight. 650 


And never has been blind ! 


A JEW. 


OTHERS. 


Where is He ? 


Here are his parents. 




Ask them. 


THE BEGGAR. 




I know not. 


PHARISEES. 




Is this your son ? 


PHARISEES. 




What is this crowd 


THE PARENTS. 


Gathered about a beggar ? What has 


Rabboni, yea; 


happened ? 


We know this is our son. 



5 o8 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



PHARISEES. 

Was he born blind ? 



THE PATIENTS. 

He was born blind. 



PHARISEES. 

Then how doth he now see 



THE PARENTS. 

What answer shall we make ? If we 

confess 670 

It was the Christ, we shall be driven 

forth 
Out of the Synagogue! We know, 

Rabboni, 
This is our son, and that he was born 

blind; 
But by what means he seeth, we know 

not, 
Or who his eyes hath opened, we know 

not. 
He is of age ; ask him ; we cannot 

say ; 
He shall speak for himself. 

PHARISEES. 

Give God the praise ! 
We know the man that healed thee is 
a sinner ! 

THE BEGGAR. 

Whether He be a sinner, I know not; 
One thing I know ; that whereas I was 
blind, 680 

I now do see. 

PHARISEES. 

How opened he thine eyes ? 
What did he do ? 

THE BEGGAR. 

I have already told you. 
Ye did not hear : why would ye hear 

again ? 
Will ye be his disciples ? 

PHARISEES. 

God of Moses ! 
Are we demoniacs, are we halt or 

blind, 
Or palsy-stricken, or lepers, or the 

like, 
That we should join the Synagogue of 

Satan, 
And follow jugglers ? Thou art his 

disciple, 



But we are disciples of Moses ; and 

we know 
That God spake unto Moses ; but this 

fellow, 690 

We know not whence he is ! 

THE BEGGAR. 

Why, herein is 
A marvellous thing! Ye know not 

whence He is, 
Yet He hath opened mine eyes ! We 

know that God 
Heareth not sinners ; but if any man 
Doeth God's will, and is his worship- 
per, 
Him doth He hear. Oh, since the 

world began 
It was not heard that any man hath 

opened 
The eyes of one that was born blind. 

If He 
Were not of God, surely He could do 

nothing ! 

PHARISEES. 

Thou, who wast altogether born in 
sins 700 

And in iniquities, dost thou teach us ? 

Away with thee out of the holy places, 

Thou reprobate, thou beggar, thou 
blasphemer ! 
The Beggar is cast out. 



XI 

SIMON MAGUS AND HELEN OF TYRE 

On the house-top at Endor. Night. A 
lighted lantern on a table. 

SIMON. 

Swift are the blessed Immortals to the 

mortal 
That perseveres ! So doth it stand re- 
corded 
In the divine Chaldaean Oracles 
Of Zoroaster, once Ezekiel's slave, 
Who in his native East betook him- 
self 
To lonely meditation, and the writing 
On the dried skins of oxen the Twelve 
Books 710 

Of the Avesta and the Oracles ! 
Therefore I persevere ; and I have 
brought thee 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



5°9 



From the great city of Tyre, where 
men deride 

The things they comprehend not, to 
this plain 

Of Esdraelon, in the Hebrew tongue 

Called Armageddon, and this town of 
Endor, 

Where men believe ; where all the air 
is full 

Of marvellous traditions, and the En- 
chantress 

That summoned up the ghost of Sam- 
uel 

Is still remembered. Thou hast seen 
the land ; 720 

Is it not fair to look on ? 



HELEN. 



Yet not so fair as Tyre. 



It is fair, 



SIMON. 

Is not Mount Tabor 
As beautiful as Carmel by the Sea ? 

HELEN. 

It is too silent and too solitary ; 

I miss the tumult of the streets ; the 

sounds 
Of traffic, and the going to and fro 
Of people in gay attire, with cloaks of 

purple, 
And gold and silver j ewelry ! 

SIMON. 

Inventions 
Of Ahriman, the spirit of the dark, 
The Evil Spirit ! 

HELEN. 

I regret the gossip 
Of friends and neighbors at the open 
door 731 

On summer nights. 

SIMON. 

An idle waste of time. 

HELEN. 

The singing and the dancing, the de- 
light 

Of music and of motion. Woe is me, 

To give up all these pleasures, and to 
lead 

The life we lead ! 



Thou canst not raise thyself 
Up to the level of my higher thought, 
And though possessing thee, I still re- 
main 
Apart from thee, and with thee, am 
alone 739 

In my high dreams. 

HELEN. 

Happier was I in Tyre. 

Oh, I remember how the gallant ships 

Came sailing in, with ivory, gold, and 
silver, 

And apes and peacocks ; and the sing- 
ing sailors, 

And the gay captains with their silken 
dresses, 

Smelling of aloes, myrrh, and cinna- 
mon! 

SIMON. 

But the dishonor, Helen ! Let the 

ships 
Of Tarshish howl for that! 

HELEN. 

And what dishonor? 

Remember Rahab, and how she be- 
came 

The ancestress of the great Psalmist 
David ; 

And wherefore should not I, Helen of 
Tyre, 750 

Attain like honor? 

SIMON. 

Thou art Helen of Tyre, 
And hast been Helen of Troy, and 

hast been Rahab, 
The Queen of Sheba, and Semiramis, 
And Sara of seven husbands, and 

Jezebel, 
And other women of the like allure- 
ments ; 
And now thou art Minerva, the first 

^Eon, 
The Mother of Angels ! 

HELEN. 

And the concubine 
Of Simon the Magician ! Is it honor 
For one who has been all these noble 

dames, 
To tramp about the dirty villages 760 
And cities of Samaria with a juggler? 
A charmer of serpents ? 



5" 



CHRISTUS : A MYSTERY 



SIMON. 

He who knows himself 

Knows all things in himself. I have 
charmed thee, 

Thou beautiful asp : yet am I no ma- 
gician. 

I am the Power of God, and the 
Beauty of God ! 

I am the Paraclete, the Comforter ! 

HELEN. 

Illusions! Thou deceiver, self -de- 
ceived ! 
Thou dost usurp the titles of another; 
Thou art not what thou say est. 

SIMON. 

Am I not? 
Then feel my power. 

HELEN. 

Would I had ne'er left Tyre ! 
He looks at her, and she sinks into a 
deep sleep. 

SIMON. 

Go, see it in thy dreams, fair unbe- 
liever ! 771 

And leave me unto mine, if they be 
dreams, 

That take such shapes before me, that 
I see them ; 

These effable and ineffable impres- 
sions 

Of the .mysterious world, that come to 
me 

From the elements of Fire and Earth 
and Water, 

And the all-nourishing Ether! It is 
written, 

Look not on Nature, for her name is 
fatal ! 

Yet there are Principles, that make 
apparent 

The images of unapparent things, 780 

And the impression of vague charac- 
ters 

And visions most divine appear in 
ether. 

So speak the Oracles ; then wherefore 
fatal ? 

I take this orange-bough, with its five 
leaves, 

Each equidistant on the upright 
stem ; 

And I project them on a plane below, 



In the circumference of a circle drawn 
About a centre where the stem is 

planted, 
And each still equidistant from the 

other ; 
As if a thread of gossamer were 

drawn • 7go 

Down from each leaf, and fastened 

with a pin. 
Now if from these five points a line be 

traced 
To each alternate point, we shall ob- 
tain 
The Pentagram, or Solomon's Pent- 
angle, 
A charm against all witchcraft, and a 

sign, 
Which on the banner of Antiochus 
Drove back the fierce barbarians of 

the North, 
Demons esteemed, and gave the Syrian 

King 
The sacred name of Soter, or of Savior. 
Thus Nature works mysteriously with 

man ; 800 

And from the Eternal One, as from 

a centre, 
All things proceed, in fire, air, earth, 

and water, 
And all are sub j ect to one law, which 

broken 
Even in a single point, is broken in 

all; 
Demons rush in, and chaos comes 

again. 

By this will I compel the stubborn 

spirits, 
That guard the treasures, hid in cav- 
erns deep 
On Gerizim, by Uzzi the High-Priest, 
The ark and holy vessels, to reveal 
Their secret unto me, and to restore 
These precious things to the Samari- 
tans. 8n 
A mist is rising from the plain below 

me, 
And as I look, the vapors shape them- 
selves 
Into strange figures, as if unawares 
My lips had breathed the Tetragram- 

maton, 
And from their graves, o'er all the 

battle-fields 
Of Armageddon, the long-buried cap- 
tains 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



Had started, with their thousands, and 
ten thousands, 

And rushed together to renew their 
wars, 

Powerless, and weaponless, and with- 
out a sound! 820 

Wake, Helen, from thy sleep ! The 
air grows cold ; 

Let us go down. 

helen, awaking. 

Oh, would I were at home ! 

SIMON. 

Thou sayest that I usurp another's 

titles. 
In youth I saw the Wise Men of the 

East, 
Magalath and Pangalath and Sara- 
cen, 
Who followed the bright star, hut 

home returned 
For fear of Herod by another way. 
Oh shining worlds above me ! in what 

deep 
Recesses of your realms of mystery 
Lies hidden now that star? and where 

are they 830 

That brought the gifts of frankincense 

and myrrh? 



tarries not; is 
like something 



HELEN. 

The Nazarene still liveth. 

SIMON. 

We have heard 
His name in many towns, but have 

not seen Him. 
He flits before us ; 

gone 
When we approach, 

unsubstantial, 
Made of the air, and fading into air. 
He is at Nazareth, He is at Nain, 
Or at the Lovely Village on the Lake, 
Or sailing on its waters. 

HELEN. 

So say those 
Who do not wish to find Him. 

SLMON. 

Can this be 
The King of Israel, whom the Wise 

Men worshipped? 841 

Or does He fear to meet me ? It 

would seem so. 
We should soon learn which of us 

twain usurps 
The titles of the other, as thou sayest. 

They go doicn. 




Go, see it in thy dreams, fair unbeliever I " 



5" 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



THE THIRD PASSOVER 

I 

THE ENTRY INTO JERUSALEM 

The Syro-Phosnician Woman and 
her Daughter on the house-top at 
Jerusalem. 

the daughter, singing. 
Blind Bartimeus at the gates 
Of Jericho in darkness waits ; 
He hears the crowd; — he hears a 

breath 
Say, It is Christ of Nazareth ! 
And calls, in tones of agony, 
'Irjaov, ike7io6v fie ! 

The thronging multitudes increase : 
Blind Bartimeus, hold thy peace ! 
But still, above the noisy crowd, 
The beggar's cry is shrill and loud ; 10 
Until they say, He calleth thee ! 
©ctpcrei* €7eipai, (pooveT <re / 

Then saith the Christ, as silent stands 
The crowd, What wilt thou at my 

hands ? 
And he replies, Oh, give me light ! 
Rabbi, restore the blind man's sight ! 
And Jesus answers, "Viraye* 
*H iriffTis (Tov ereaooici <re ! 

Ye that have eyes, yet cannot see, 
In darkness and in misery, 20 

Recall those mighty voices three, 

'I^coD eAeTjc^i' fie ! 
'ddpaer tyeipai, virayz ! 
'H irians aov creawKe <re ! 

THE MOTHER. 

Thy faith hath saved thee ! Ah, how 

true that is ! 
For I had faith ; and when the Mas- 
ter came 
Into the coasts of Tyre and Sidon, 

fleeing 
From those who sought to slay Him, I 

went forth 
And cried unto Him, saying: Have 

mercy on me, 
O Lord, thou Son of David! for my 

daughter 30 

Is grievously tormented with \ devil. 
But He passed on, and answered not a 

word. 



And his disciples said, beseeching 
Him: 

Send her away ! She crieth after 
us ! 

And then the Master answered them 
and said : 

I am not sent but unto the lost sheep 

Of the House of Israel ! Then I wor- 
shipped Him, 

Saying : Lord, help me ! And He an- 
swered me, 

It is not meet to take the children's 
bread 

And cast it unto dogs ! Truth, Lord, 
I said ; 40 

And yet the dogs may eat the crumbs 
which fall 

From off their master's table ; and He 
turned, 

And answered me ; and said to me : 

woman, 

Great is thy faith; then be it unto 

thee 
Even as thou wilt. And from that 

very hour 
Thou wast made whole, my darling! 

my delight ! 

THE DAUGHTER. 

There came upon my dark and trou- 
bled mind 

A calm, as when the tumult of the 
city 

Suddenly ceases, and I lie and hear 

The silver trumpets of the Temple 
blowing 50 

Their welcome to the Sabbath. Still 

1 wonder, 

That one who was so far away from 

me, 
And could not see me, by his thought 

alone 
Had power to heal me. Oh that I 

could see Him ! 

THE MOTHER. 

Perhaps thou wilt ; for I have brought 

thee here 
To keep the holy Passover, and lay 
Thine offering of thanksgiving on the 

altar. 
Thou mayst both see and hear Him. 

Hark! 

voices afar off. 
Hosanna ! 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



5*3 



THE DAUGHTER. 

A crowd comes pouring through the 
city gate! 59 

O mother, look ! 

voices in the street. 

Hosanna to the Son 
Of David! 

THE DAUGHTER. 

A great multitude of people 

Fills all the street ; and riding on an 
ass 

Comes one of noble aspect, like a 
king! 

The people spread their garments in 
the way, 

And scatter branches of the palm- 
trees ! 

VOICES. 

Blessed 
Is He that cometh in the name of the 

Lord! 
Hosanna in the highest ! 

OTHER VOICES. 

Who is this ? 

VOICES. 

Jesus of Nazareth ! 

THE DAUGHTER. 

Mother, it is He ! 

VOICES. 

He hath called Lazarus of Bethany 
Out of his grave, and raised him from 
the dead ! 70 

Hosanna in the highest ! 

PHARISEES. 

Ye perceive 
That nothing we prevail. Behold, the 

world 
Is all gone after him ! 

THE DAUGHTER. 

What majesty, 
What power is in that care-worn coun- 
tenance! 
What sweetness, what compassion ! 

I no longer 
Wonder that He hath healed me ! 

VOICES. 

Peace in heaven, 
And glory in the highest ! 



PHARISEES. 

Rabbi! Rabbi ! 
Rebuke thy followers ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Should they hold their peace 
The very stones beneath us would cry 
out! 

THE DAUGHTER. 

All hath passed by me like a dream of 
wonder ! 80 

But I have seen Him, and have heard 
his voice, 

And I am satisfied ! I ask no more ! 



II 
SOLOMON'S PORCH 

GAMALTEL THE SCRIBE. 

When Rabban Simeon, upon whom 
be peace ! 

Taught in these Schools, he boasted 
that his pen 

Had written no word that he* could 
call his own, 

But wholly and always had been con- 
secrated 

To the transcribing of the Law and 
Prophets. 

He used to say, and never tired of say- 
ing. 

The world itself was built upon the 
Law. 

And ancient Hillel said, that whoso- 
ever 90 

Gains a good name, gains something 
for himself, 

But he who gains a knowledge of the 
Law 

Gains everlasting life. And they 
spake truly. 

Great is the Written Law ; but greater 
still 

The Unwritten, the Traditions of the 
Elders, 

The lovely words of Levites, spoken 
first 

To Moses on the Mount, and handed 
down 

From mouth to mouth, in one un- 
broken sound 

And sequence of divine authority, 

The voice of God resounding through 
the ages. 100 



5^4 



CHRISTUS : A MYSTERY 



The Written Law is water; the Un- 
written 

Is precious wine ; the Written Law is 
salt, 

The Unwritten costly spice ; the Writ- 
ten Law 

Is but the body ; the Unwritten, the 
soul 

That quickens it and makes it breathe 
and live. 

I can remember, many years ago, 

A little bright-eyed school-boy, a mere 
stripling, 

Son of a Galilean carpenter, 

From Nazareth, I think, who came 
one day 

And sat here in the Temple with the 
Scribes, no 

Hearing us speak, and asking many 
questions, 

And we were all astonished at his 
quickness. 

And when his mother came, and said : 
Behold 

Thy father and I have sought thee, 
sorrowing ; 

He looked as one astonished, and 
made answer, 

How is it that ye sought me ? Wist 
ye not 

That I must be about my Father's 
business ? 

Often since then I see him here among 
us, 

Or dream I see him, with his upraised 
face 119 

Intent and eager, and I often wonder 

Unto what manner of manhood he 
hath grown ! 

Perhaps a poor mechanic, like his fa- 
ther, 

Lost in his little Galilean village 

And toiling at his craft, to die un- 
known 

And be no more remembered among 
men. 

christus, in the outer court. 

The Scribes and Pharisees sit in Moses' 
seat; 

All, therefore, whatsoever they com- 
mand you, 

Observe and do ; but follow not their 
works ; 

They say and do not. They bind 
heavy burdens 



And very grievous to be borne, and 
lay them 130 

Upon men's shoulders, but they move 
them not 

With so much as a finger! 

Gamaliel, looking forth. 

Who is this 
Exhorting in the outer courts so 
loudly ? 

CHRISTUS. 

Their works they do for to be seen of 

men. 
They make broad their phylacteries, 

and enlarge 
The borders of their garments, and 

they love 
The uppermost rooms at feasts, and 

the chief seats 
In Synagogues, and greetings in the 

markets, 
And to be called of all men Rabbi, 

Rabbi ! 

GAMALIEL. 

It is that loud and turbulent Gali- 
lean, 140 

That came here at the Feast of Dedi- 
cation, 

And stirred the people up to break the 
Law! 

CHRISTUS. 

Woe unto you, ye Scribes and Phari- 
sees, 

Ye hypocrites ! for ye shut up the 
kingdom 

Of heaven, and neither go ye in your- 
selves 

Nor suffer them that are entering to 
go in! 

GAMALIEL. 

How eagerly the people throng and 

listen, 
As if his ribald words were words of 

wisdom ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Woe unto you, ye Scribes and Phari- 
sees, 

Ye hypocrites! for ye devour the 
houses 150 

Of widows, and for pretence ye make 
long prayers; 

Therefore shall ye receive the more 
damnation. 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



5i5 




" Who is this 
Exhorting in the outer courts so loudly ? " 



GAMALIEL. 

This brawler is no Jew, — he is a vile 
Samaritan, and hath an unclean spirit ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Woe unto you, ye Scribes and Phari- 
sees, 

Ye hypocrites! ye compass sea and 
land 

To make one proselyte, and when he 
is made 

Ye make him twofold more the child 
of hell 

Than you yourselves are ! 

GAMALIEL. 

O my father's father ! 

Hillel of blessed memory, hear and 

judge! 160 

CHRISTUS. 

Woe unto you, ye Scribes and Phari- 
sees, 

Ye hypocrites! for ye pay tithe of 
mint. 

Of anise, and of cumin, and omit 



The weightier matters of the law of 
God, 

Judgment and faith and mercy ; and 
all these 

Ye ought to have done, nor leave un- 
done the others ! 

GAMALIEL. 

O Rabban Simeon! how must thy 
bones 

Stir in their grave to hear such blas- 
phemies ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Woe unto you, ye Scribes and Phari- 
sees, 

Ye hypocrites ! for ye make clean and 
sweet 170 

The outside of the cup and of the 
platter, 

But they within are full of all excess ! 

GAMALIEL. 

Patience of God ! canst thou endure so 

long? 
Or art thou deaf, or gone upon a 

journey ? 



5i6 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



CHRISTUS. 

Woe unto you, ye Scribes and Phari- 
sees, 
Ye hypocrites ! for ye are very like 
To whited sepulchres, which indeed 

appear 
Beautiful outwardly, but are within 
Filled full of dead men's bones and all 
uncleanness ! 

GAMALIEL. 

Am I awake ? Is this Jerusalem ? 180 
And are these Jews that throng and 
stare and listen ?' 

CHRISTUS. 

Woe unto you, ye Scribes and Phari- 
sees, 
Ye hypocrites ! because ye build the 

tombs 
Of prophets, and adorn the sepulchres 
Of righteous men, and say : If we had 

lived 
When lived our fathers, we would not 

have been 
Partakers with them in the blood of 

Prophets. 
So ye be witnesses unto yourselves, 
That ye are children of them that killed 

the Prophets ! 
Fill ye up then the measure of your 

fathers. 190 

I send unto you Prophets and Wise 

Men, 
And Scribes, and some ye crucify, and 

some 
Scourge in your Synagogues, and per- 
secute 
From city to city; that on you may 

come 
The righteous blood that hath been 

shed on earth, 
From the blood of righteous Abel to 

the blood 
Of Zacharias, son of Barachias, 
Ye slew between the Temple and the 

altar ! 

GAMALIEL. 

Oh, had I here my subtle dialectician, 

My little Saul of Tarsus, the tent- 
maker, 200 

Whose wit is sharper than his needle's 
point, 

He would delight to foil this noisy 
wrangler ! 



CHRISTUS. 

Jerusalem! Jerusalem! O thou 
That killest the Prophets, and that 

stonest them 
Which are sent unto thee, how often 

would I 
Have gathered together thy children, 

as a hen 
Gathereth her chickens underneath her 

wing, 
And ye would not! Behold, your 

house is left 
Unto you desolate I 

THE PEOPLE. 

This is a Prophet ! 
This is the Christ that was to come ! 

GAMALIEL. 

Ye fools ! 

Think ye, shall Christ come out of 

Galilee ? 211 

III 
LORD, IS IT I? 

CHRISTUS. 

One of you shall betray me. 



THE DISCIPLES. 



Lord, is it I 



Is it I? 



CHRISTUS. 

One of the Twelve it is 
That dippeth with me in this dish his 

hand; 
He shall betray me. Lo, the Son of 

Man 
Goeth indeed as it is written of Him ; 
But woe shall be unto that man by 

whom 
He is betrayed ! Good were it for that 

man 
If he had ne'er been born ! 

JUDAS ISCARIOT. 

Lord, is it I ? 

CHRISTUS. 

Ay, thou hast said. And that thou 
doest, do quickly. 220 

judas iscARiOT, going out. 
Ah, woe is me ! 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



5i7 



CHEISTUS. 

AH ye shall be offended 
Because of me this night; for it is 

written : 
Awake, sword against my shepherd ! 

Smite 
The shepherd, saith the Lord of hosts, 

and scattered 
Shall be the sheep ! — But after I am 

risen 
I go before you into Galilee. 

PETER. 

O Master ! though all men shall be of- 
fended 
Because of thee, yet will not I be ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Simon, 
Behold how Satan hath desired to have 

you, 
That he may sift you as one sifteth 

wheat ! 230 

Whither I go thou canst not follow 

me 
Not now ; but thou shalt follow me 

hereafter. 

PETER. 

Wherefore can I not follow thee? I 

am ready 
To go with thee to prison and to 

death. 

CHRISTUS. 

Verily say I unto thee, this night, 
Ere the cock crow, thou shalt deny me 
thrice ! 

PETER. 

Though I should die, yet will I not 
deny thee. 

CHRISTUS. 

When first I sent you forth without a 
purse, 

Or scrip, or shoes, did ye lack any- 
thing? 239 

THE DISCIPLES. 

Not anything. 

CHRISTUS. 

But he that hath a purse, 
Now let him take it, and likewise his 
scrip ; 



And he that hath no sword, let him go 

sell 
His clothes and buy one. That which 

hath been written 
Must be accomplished now : He hath 

poured out 
His soul even unto death ; he hath 

been numbered 
With the transgressors, and himself 

hath borne 
The sin of many, and made interces- 
sion 
For the transgressors. And here have 

an end 
The things concerning me. 

PETER. 

Behold, O Lord, 
Behold, here are two swords ! 

CHRISTUS. 

It is enough. 250 

IV 

THE GARDEN OF GETHSEMANE 

CHRISTUS. 

My spirit is exceeding sorrowful 
Even unto death ! Tarry ye here and 
watch. 

He goes apart. 

PETER. 

Under this ancient olive-tree, that 

spreads 
Its broad centennial branches like a 

tent, 
Let us lie down and rest. 

JOHN. 

What are those torches, 
That glimmer on Brook Kedron there 
below us ? 

JAMES. 

It is some marriage feast ; the joyful 

maidens 
Go out to meet the bridegroom. 

PETER. 

I am weary. 
The struggles of this day have over 
come me. 

They sleep. 



5>» 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 




Iii the Garden of Gethsemane 



christus, falling on his face. 

Father! all things are possible to 
thee, — 260 

Oh, let this cup pass from me ! Never- 
theless 

Not as I will, but as thou wilt, be 
done! 

'Returning to the Disciples. 

What ! could ye not watch with me 

for one hour? 
Oh, watch and pray, that ye may enter 

not 
Into temptation. For the spirit indeed 
Is willing, but the flesh is weak ! 



JOHN. 

Alas ! 
It is for sorrow that our eyes are 

heavy. — 
I see again the glimmer of those 

torches 
Among the olives; they are coming 

hither. 

JAMES. 

Outside the garden wall the path di- 
vides ; 270. 
Surely they come not hither. 

They sleep again. 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



5*9 



cmtisTus, as before. 

O my Father ! 
If this cup may not pass away from 

me, 
Except I drink of it, thy will be 
done. 

Returning to the Disciples. 
Sleep on ; and take your rest ! 

JOHN. 

Beloved Master, 
Alas ! we know not what to answer 

thee ! 
It is for sorrow that our eyes are 

heavy. — 
Behold, the torches now encompass us. 

JAMES. 

They do but go about the garden wall, 
Seeking for some one, or for something 
lost. 

They sleep again. 

christus, as before. 
If this cup may not pass away from 

me, 280 

Except I drink of it, thy will be done. 

Returning to the Disciples. 
It is enough ! Behold, the Son of Man 
Hath been betrayed into the hands of 

sinners! 
The hour is come. Rise up, let us be 

going; 
For he that shall betray me is at hand. 

JOHN. 

Ah me! See, from his forehead, in 

the torchlight, 
Great drops of blood are falling to the 

ground ! 

PETER. 

What lights are these ? What torches 

glare and glisten 
Upon the swords and armor of these 

men? 
And there among them Judas Iscar- 

iot ! 290 

He smites the servant of the High- 
Priest with his sword. 

CHRISTUS. 

Put up thy sword into its sheath ; for 

they 
That take the sword shall perish with 

the sword. 



The cup my Father hath given me to 

drink, 
Shall I not drink it ? Think' st thou 

that I cannot 
Pray to my Father, and that He shall 

give me 
More than twelve legions of angels 

presently ? 

judas to christus, kissing him. 
Hail, Master ! hail ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Friend, wherefore art thou come ? 
Whom seek ye ? 

CAPTAIN OF THE TEMPLE. 

Jesus of Nazareth. 

CHRISTUS. 

I am he. 

Are ye come hither as against a thief, 

With swords and staves to take me? 

When I daily 300 

Was with you in the Temple, ye 

stretched forth 
No hands to take me! But this is 

your hour, 
And this the power of darkness. If 

ye seek 
Me only, let these others go their 

way. 
The Disciples depart. Christus is 
bound and led away. A certain 
young man follows Him. having a 
linen cloth cast about his body. They 
lay hold of him, and the young man 
flees from them naked. 



THE PALACE OF CAIAPHAS 

PHARISEES. 

What do we? Clearly something 

must we do, 
For this man worketh many miracles. 

CAIAPHAS. 

I am informed that he is a mechanic ; 
A carpenter's son ; a Galilean peasant, 
Keeping disreputable company. 309 

PHARISEES. 

The people say that here in Bethany 
He hath raised up a certain Lazarus, 
Who had been dead three days. 



520 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



CAIAl'HAS. 

Impossible ! 
There is no resurrection of the dead ; 
This Lazarus should be taken, and 

put to death 
As an impostor. If this Galilean 
Would be content to stay in Galilee, 
And preach in country towns, I should 

not heed him. 
But when he comes up to Jerusalem 
Riding in triumph, as I am informed, 
And drives the money-changers from 

the Temple, 320 

That is another matter. 

PHAKISEES. 

If we thus 
Let him alone, all will believe on him, 
And then the Romans come and take 

away 
Our place and nation. 

CAIAPHAS. 

Ye know nothing at all. 
Simon Ben Camith, my great prede- 
cessor, 
On whom be peace! would have dealt 

presently 
With such a demagogue. I shall no 

less. 
The man must die. Do ye consider not 
It is expedient that one man should 

die, 
Not the whole nation perish ? What 

is death? 330 

It differeth from sleep but in duration. 
We sleep and wake again ; an hour or 

two 
Later or earlier, and it matters not, 
And if we never wake it matters not ; 
When we are in our graves we are at 

peace, 
Nothing can wake us or disturb us 

more. 
There is no resurrection. 

Pharisees, aside. 

O most faithful 
Disciple of Hircanus Maccabseus, 
Will nothing but complete annihila- 
tion 339 
Comfort and satisfy thee ? 

CAIAPHAS. 

While ye are talking 
And plotting, and contriving how to 
take him, 



Fearing the people, and so doing 

naught, 
I, who fear not the people, have been 

acting ; 
Have taken this Prophet, this young 

Nazarene, 
Who by Beelzebub the Prince of 

devils 
Casteth out devils, and doth raise the 

dead, 
That might as well be dead, and left 

in peace. 
Annas my father-in-law hath sent him 

hither. 
I hear the guard. Behold your Gali 

lean! 
Christ us is brought in bound. 

servant, in the vestibule. 
Why art thou up so late, my pretty 

damsel ? 350 

DAMSEL. 

Why art thou up so early, pretty 

man? 
It is not cock-crow yet, and art thou 

stirring ? 

servant. 
What brings thee here ? 

DAMSEL. 

What brings the rest of you ? 

SERVANT. 

Come here and warm thy hands. 

DAMSEL tO PETER. 

Art thou not also 
One of this man's disciples ? 

PETER. 

I am not. 

DAMSEL. 

Now surely thou art also one of them: 
Thou art a Galilean, and thy speech 
Bewrayeth thee. 

PETER. 

Woman, I know him not! 

caiaphas to christus, in the Hall. 

Who art thou ? Tell us plainly of thy- 
self 

And of thy doctrines, and of thy dis- 
ciples. 360 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



52i 



CHRISTUS. 

Lo, I have spoken openly to the world, 

I have taught ever in the Synagogue, 

And in the Temple, where the Jews 
resort ; 

tn secret have said nothing. Where- 
fore then 

Askest thou me of this? Ask them 
that heard me 

What I have said to them. Behold, 
they know 

What I have said ! 

officer, striking Mm. 
What, fellow ! answerest thou 
The High-Priest so ? 

CHRISTUS. 

If I have spoken evil, 
Bear witness of the evil; but if well, 
Why smitest thou me ? 

CAIAPHAS. 

Where are the witnesses ? 
Let them say what they know. 

THE TWO FALSE WITNESSES. 

We heard him say : 

I will destroy this Temple made with 

hands, 372 



And will within three days build up 

another 
Made without hands. 

scribes and Pharisees. 

He is o'erwhelmed with shame 
And cannot answer ! 

CAIAPHAS. 

Dost thou answer nothing ? 
What is this thing they witness here 
against thee ? 

scribes and Pharisees. 
He holds his peace. 

CAIAPHAS. 

Tell us, art thou the Christ ? 
I do adjure thee by the living God, 
Tell us, art thou indeed the Christ ? 

CHRISTUS. 

I am. 

Hereafter shall ye see the Son of 
Man 380 

Sit on the right hand of the power of 
God, 

And come in clouds of heaven ! 




" What think ye ? Is he guilty ? »» 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



caiaphas, rending his clothes. 

It is enough. 
He hath spoken blasphemy ! What 

further need 
Have we of witness ? Now ye have 

heard 
His blasphemy. What think ye ? Is 
he guilty ? 

scribes and Pharisees. * 
Guilty of death! 

KINSMAN OF MALCHUS to PETER, in the 

vestibule. 

Surely I know thy face, 
Did I not see thee in the garden with 
him? 

PETER. 

How couldst thou see me ? I swear 
unto thee 

I do not know this man of whom ye, 
speak ! 

The cock crows. ■ 

Hark ! the cock crows 1 That sorrow- 
ful, pale face 390 

Seeks for me in the crowd, and looks 
at me, 

As if He would remind me of those 
words : 

Ere the cock crow thou shalt deny me 
thrice ! 

Goes out weeping. Christus is blind- 
folded and buffeted. 

an officer, striking him with his 

palm. 

Prophesy unto us, thou Christ, thou 

Prophet ! 
Who is it smote thee ? 

CAIAPHAS. 

Lead him unto Pilate ! 



VI 

PONTIUS PILATE 

PILATE. 

Wholly incomprehensible to me, 
Vainglorious, obstinate, and given up 
To unintelligible old traditions, 
And proud, and self -conceited are 

these Jews ! 
Not long ago, I marched the legions 

down 400 



From Csesarea to their winter-quarters 
Here in Jerusalem, with the effigies 
Of Caesar on their ensigns, and a 

tumult 
Arose among these Jews, because their 

Law 
Forbids the making of all images ! 
They threw themselves upon the 

ground with wild 
Expostulations, bared their necks, and 

cried 
That they would sooner die than have 

their Law 
Infringed in any manner; as if Numa 
Were not as great as Moses, and the 

Laws 410 

Of the Twelve Tables as their Penta- 
teuch ! 

And then, again, when I desired to 
span 

Their valley with an aqueduct, and 
bring 

A rushing river in to wash the city 

And its inhabitants, — they all re- 
belled 

As if they had been herds of unwashed 
swine ! 

Thousands and thousands of them got 
together 

And raised so great a clamor round 
my doors, 

That, fearing violent outbreak, I de- 
sisted, 

And left them to their wallowing in 
the mire. 420 

And now here comes the reverend 
Sanhedrim 

Of lawyers, priests, and Scribes and 
Pharisees, 

Like old and toothless mastiffs, that 
can bark 

But cannot bite, howling their accusa- 
tions 

Against a mild enthusiast, who hath 
preached 

I know not what new doctrine, being 
King 

Of some vague kingdom in the other 
world, 

That hath no more to do with Rome 
and Caesar 

Than I have with the patriarch Abra- 
ham ! 

Finding this man to be a Galilean 430 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



5 2 3 




Barabbas is my name : 



I sent him straight to Herod, and I 

hope 
That is the last of it ; but if it be not, 
I still have power to pardon and re- 
lease him, 
As is the custom at the Passover, 
And so accommodate the matter 

smoothly, 
Seeming to yield to them, yet saving 

him ; 
A prudent and sagacious policy 
For Roman Governors in the Pro- 



Incomprehensible, fanatic people ! 

Ye have a God, who seemeth like your- 
selves 440 

Incomprehensible, dwelling apart, 

Majestic, cloud -encompassed, clothed 
in darkness ! 

One whom ye fear, but love not ; yet 
ye have 

No Goddesses to soften your stern 
lives, 

And make you tender unto human 
weakness, 

While we of Rome have everywhere 
around us 



Our amiable divinities, that haunt 
The woodlands, and the waters, and 

frequent 
Our households, with their sweet and 

gracious presence ! 
I will go in, and while these Jews are 

wrangling, 450 

Read my Ovidius on the Art of Love. 



VII 
BARABBAS IN PRISON 

barabbas, to Ms fellow -prisoner. 
Barabbas is my name, 
Barabbas, the Son of Shame, 

Is the meaning I suppose ; 
I 'm no better than the best, 
And whether worse than the rest 

Of my fe]low-men, who knows ? 

I was once, to say it in brief, 
A highwayman, a robber-chief, 

In the open light of day. 460 

So much I am free to confess ; 
But all men, more or less, 

Are robbers in their way. 



5 2 4 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



From my cavern in the crags, 
From my lair of leaves and flags, 

I could see, like ants, below, 
The camels with their load 
Of merchandise, on the road 

That leadeth to Jericho. 

And I struck them unaware, 470 
As an eagle from the air 

Drops down upon bird or beast ; 
And I had my heart's desire 
Of the merchants of Sidon and Tyre, 

And Damascus and the East. 

But it is not for that I fear ; 
It is not for that I am here 

In these iron fetters bound ; 
Sedition ! that is the word 
That Pontius Pilate heard, 480 

And he liketh not the sound. 

What think ye, would he care 
For a Jew slain here or there, 

Or a plundered caravan ? 
But Caesar ! — ah, that is a crime, 
To the uttermost end of time 

Shall not be forgiven to man. 

Therefore was Herod wroth 
With Matthias Margaloth, 

And burned him for a show ! 49 o 
Therefore his wrath did smite 
Judas the Gaulonite, 

And his followers, as ye know. 

For that cause and no more, 
Am I here, as I said before ; 

For one unlucky night, 
Jucundus, the captain of horse, 
Was upon us with all his force, 

And I was caught in the fight. 

I might have fled with the rest, 500 
But my dagger was in the breast 

Of a Roman equerry ; 
As we rolled there in the street, 
They bound me, hands and feet ; 

And this is the end of me. 

Who cares for death ? Not I ! 
A thousand times I would die, 

Rather than suffer wrong ! 
Already those women of mine 509 
Are mixing the myrrh and the wine ; 

I shall not be with you long. 



VIII 
ECCE HOMO 



pilate, on the 

front of his palace. 
Ye have brought unto me this man, as 

one 
Who doth pervert the people ; and be- 
hold! 
I have examined him, and found no 

fault 
Touching the things whereof ye do 

accuse him. 
No, nor yet Herod ; for I sent you to 

him, 
And nothing worthy of death he find- 

eth in him. 
Ye have a custom at the Passover, 
That one condemned to death shall be 

released. 
Whom will ye, then, that I release to 

you ? 520 

Jesus Barabbas, called the Son of 

Shame, 
Or Jesus, Son of Joseph, called the 

Christ ? 

the people, shouting. 
Not this man, but Barabbas ! 

PILATE. 

What then will ye 
That I should do with him that is 
called Christ? 

THE PEOPLE. 

Crucify him ! 

PILATE. 

Why, what evil hath he done ? 
Lo, I have found no cause of death in 

him ; 
I will chastise him, and then let him 

go. 

the people, more vehemently. 
Crucify him ! crucify him ! 

A MESSENGER, to PILATE. 

Thy wife sends 
This message to thee, — Have thou 

naught to do 
With that just man ; for I this day in 

dreams 530 

Have suffered many things because of 

him. 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



525 



pilate, aside. 
The Gods speak to us in our dreams ! 

I tremble 
At what I have to do ! O Claudia, 
How shall I save him ? Yet one ef- 
fort more, 
Or he must perish ! 

Washes his hands before them. 

I am innocent 
Of the blood of this just person ; see 
ye to it ! 

THE PEOPLE. 

Let his blood be on us and on our 
children ! 

voices, within the palace. 
Put on thy royal robes ; put on thy 

crown, 
And take thy sceptre! Hail, thou 

King of the Jews ! 

PILATE. 

I bring him forth to you, that ye may 

540 



know 



I find no fault in him. Behold the man ! 



Christus is led in with the purple robe 
and crown of thorns. 

CHIEF PRIESTS and OFFICERS. 

Crucify him ! crucifj' him ! 



PILATE. 



I find no fault in him. 



Take ye him 



CHIEF PRIESTS. 

We have a Law, 
And by our Law he ought to die ; be- 
cause 
He made himself to be the Son of God, 



PLLATE, 

Ah! there are Sons of God, and demi- 
gods 

More than ye know, ye ignorant High- 
Priests ! 

To CHRISTTJS. 

Whence art thou ? 

CHIEF PRIESTS. 

Crucify him ! crucify him ! 



• 


HB InB^Bi 

HBBp 'iH 

m mm 

1 nHP Mm 

■ '■''"' - '■"■ SI-'''--- 4 



" Ye Jews, behold your King ! : 



526 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



PILATE, to CHRISTUS. 

Dost thou not answer me ? Dost thou 

not know 
That I have power enough to crucify 

thee ? 550 

That I have also power to set thee 

free? 

CHRISTUS. 

Thou couldest have no power at all 

against me 
Except that it were given thee from 

above ; 
Therefore hath he that sent me unto 

thee 
The greater sin. 

CHIEF PRIESTS. 

If thou let this man go, 
Thou art not Caesar's friend. For 

whosoever 
Maketh himself a King, speaks against 

Caesar. 

PILATE. 

Ye Jews, behold your King ! 

CHIEF PRIESTS. 

Away with him ! 
Crucify him ! 

PILATE. 

Shall I crucify your King ? 

CHIEF PRIESTS. 

We have no King but Caesar ! 

PILATE. 

Take him, then, 
Take him, ye cruel and bloodthirsty 

Priests, 561 

More merciless than the plebeian mob, 
Who pity and spare the fainting 

gladiator 
Blood-stained in Roman amphithea- 
tres, — 
Take him, and crucify him if ye will ; 
But if the immortal Gods do ever 

mingle 
With the affairs of mortals, which I 

doubt not, 
And hold the attribute of justice dear, 
They will commission the Eumenides 
To scatter you to the four winds of 

heaven, 570 

Exacting tear for tear, and blood for 

blood. 



Here, take ye this inscription, Priests, 

and nail it 
Upon the cross, above your victim's 

head: 
Jesus of Nazareth, King of the, Jews. 

CHIEF PRIESTS. 

Nay, we entreat ! write not, the King 

of the Jews ; 
But that he said : I am the King of 

the Jews ! 

PILATE. 

Enough. What I have written, I 
have written. 



IX 

ACELDAMA 

JUDAS ISCARIOT. 

Lost ! lost ! Forever lost ! I have 
betrayed 

The innocent blood ! O God ! if thou 
art love, 

Why didst thou leave me naked to 
the tempter ? 580 

Why didst thou not commission thy 
swift lightning 

To strike me dead ? or why did I not 
perish 

With those by Herod slain, the inno- 
cent children 

Who went with playthings in their 
little hands 

Into the darkness of the other world, 

As if to bed ? Or, wherefore was I 
born, 

If thou in thy foreknowledge didst 
perceive 

All that I am, and all that I must be ? 

I know I am not generous, am not 
gentle, 

Like other men ; but I have tried to be, 

And I have failed. I thought by fol- 
lowing Him 591 

I should grow like Him ; but the un- 
clean spirit 

That from my childhood up hath tor- 
tured me 

Hath been too cunning and too strong 
for me. 

Am I to blame for this ? Am I to 
blame 

Because I cannot love, and ne'er have 
known 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



527 




By permission of the Cassell Publishing Co. 



Golgotha 



The love of woman or the love of 

children ? 
It is a curse and a fatality, 
A mark, that hath been set upon my 

forehead, 
That none shall slay me, for it were a 

mercy 600 

That I were dead, or never had been 

born. 

Too late! too late 1 I shall not see Him 

more 
Among the living. That sweet, pa- 
tient face 
Will never more rebuke me, nor those 

lips 
Repeat the words: One of you shall 

betray me! 
It stung me into madness. How I 

loved, 
Yet hated Him! But in the other 

world ! 
I will be there before Him, and will 

wait 
Until he comes, and fall down on my 

knees 
And kiss his feet, imploring pardon, 

pardon ! 610 



I heard Him say: All sins shall be 

forgiven, 
Except the sin against the Holy Ghost. 
That shall not be forgiven* in this 

world, 
Nor in the world to come. Is that my 

sin ? 
Have I offended so there is no hope 
Here nor hereafter ? That I soon 

shall know. 
O God, have mercy! Christ have 

mercy on me ! 
Throws himself headlong from the cliff. 



THE THREE CROSSES 

MANAHEM, THE ESSENIAN. 

Three crosses in this noonday night 

uplifted, 
Three human figures that in mortal 

pain 
Gleam white against the supernatural 

darkness; 620 

Two thieves, that writhe in torture, 

and between them 



S 28 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



The Suffering Messiah, the Son of 
Joseph, 

Ay, the Messiah Triumphant, Son of 
David ! 

A crown of thorns on that dishonored 
head ! 

Those hands that healed the sick now 
pierced with nails, 

Those feet that wandered homeless 
through the world 

Now crossed and bleeding, and at rest 
forever! 

And the three faithful Maries, over- 
whelmed 

By this great sorrow, kneeling, pray- 
ing, weeping! 

O Joseph Caiaphas, thou great High- 
Priest, 630 

How wilt thou answer for this deed of 
blood ? 

scribes and elders. 

Thou that destroyest the Temple, and 
dost build it 

In three days, save thyself ; and if 
thou be 

The Son of God, come down now 
from the cross. 

CHIEF PRIESTS. 

Others he saved, himself he cannot 
save! 

Let Christ the King of Israel de- 
scend 

That we may see and believe ! 

scribes and elders. 

In God he trusted ; 
Let Him deliver him, if He will have 
him, 638 

And we will then believe. 

CHRISTUS. 

Father ! forgive them ; 
They know not what they do. 

THE IMPENITENT THIEF. 

If thou be Christ, 
Oh save thyself and us! 

THE PENITENT THIEF. 

Remember me, 
Lord, when thou comest into thine 
own kingdom. 

CHRISTUS. 

This day shalt thou be with me in 
Paradise. 



MANAHEM. 

Golgotha! Golgotha! Oh the pain 

and darkness ! 
Oh the uplifted cross, that shall forever 
Shine through the darkness, and shall 

conquer pain 
By the triumphant memory of this 

hour ! 

SIMON MAGUS. 

Nazarene ! I find thee here at last ! 
Thou art no more a phantom unto me ! 
This is the end of one who called him- 
self 650 

The Son of God ! Such is the fate of 

those 
Who preach new doctrines. 'Tis not 

what he did, 
But what he said, hath brought him 

unto this. 

1 will speak evil of no dignitaries. 
This is my hour of triumph, Nazarene! 

THE YOUNG RULER. 

This is the end of him who said to me- 
Sell that thou hast, and give unto the 

poor ! 
This is the treasure in heaven he pro- 
mised me ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Eloi, Eloi, lama sabacthani / 659 

a soldier, preparing the hyssop. 
HecallethforElias! 

ANOTHER. 

Nay, let be ! 
See if Elias now will come to save 
him! 

CHRISTUS. 

I thirst. 

A SOLDIER. 

Give him the wormwood ! 

christus, with a loud cry, bowing his 
head. 

It is finished ! 



XI 

THE TWO MARIES 

MARY MAGDALENE. 

We have arisen early, yet the sun 
O'ertakes us ere we ?each the sepul- 
chre, 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



5 2 9 



To wrap the body of our blessed Lord 
With our sweet spices. 

MARY, MOTHER OP JAMES. 

Lo, this is the garden, 
And yonder is the sepulchre. But who 



Shall roll away the stone for us to 
enter ? 

MARY MAGDALENE. 

It hath been rolled away ! The sepul 
chre 




" He is no longer here ; he is arisen ! ' 



S3o 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Is open! Ah, who hath been here be- 
fore US, 670 

"When we rose early, wishing to be 
first? 

MARY, MOTHER OP JAMES. 

I am affrighted ! 

MARY MAGDALENE. 

Hush ! I will stoop down 
And look within. There is a young 

man sitting 
On the right side, clothed in a long 

white garment ! 
It is an angel ! 

THE ANGEL. 

Fear not ; ye are seeking 

Jesus of Nazareth, which was cruci- 
fied. 

"Why do ye seek the living among the 
dead ? 

He is no longer here ; he is arisen ! 

Come see the place where the Lord 
lay ! Remember 

How He spake unto you in Galilee, 

Saying : The Son of Man must be de- 
livered 

Into the hands of sinful men ; by 
them 

Be crucified, and the third day rise 
again ! 

But go your way, and say to his dis- 
ciples, 

He goeth before you into Galilee ; 

There shall ye see Him as He said to 
you. 

MARY, MOTHER OP JAMES. 

I will go swiftly for them. 

mary magdalene, alone, weeping. 
They have taken 
My Lord away from me, and now I 

know not 
Where they have laid Him ! "Who is 

there to tell me ? 
This is the gardener. Surely he must 
know. 690 

CHRISTUS. 

Woman, why weepest thou ? Whom 
seekest thou ? 

MARY MAGDALENE. 

They have taken my Lord away ; I 
cannot find Him. 



Sir, if thou have borne him hence, 

I pray thee 
Tell me where thou hast laid Him. 

CHRISTUS. 

Mary! 

MARY MAGDALENE. 

Rabboni ! 
XII 
THE SEA OF GALILEE 

nathanael, in the ship. 
All is now ended. 

JOHN. 

Nay, He is arisen, 

1 ran unto the tomb, and stooping 

down 

Looked in, and saw the linen grave- 
clothes lying, 

Yet dared not enter. 

PETER. 

I went in, and saw 
The napkin that had been about his 

head, 699 

Not lying with the other linen clothes, 
But wrapped together in a separate 

place. 

THOMAS. 

And I have seen Him. I have seen 

the print 
Of nails upon his hands, and thrust 

my hands 
Into his side. I know He is arisen ; 
But where are now the kingdom and 

the glory 
He promised unto us ? We have all 

dreamed 
That we were princes, and we wake to 

find 
We are but fishermen. 

PETER. 

Who should have been 
Fishers of men ! 

JOHN. 

We have come back again 

To the old life, the peaceful life, 

among 710 

The white towns of the Galilean lake. 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



S3i 




The Sea of Galilee 



PETER. 

They seem to me like silent sepulchres 
In the gray light of morning ! The old 

life, 
Yea, the old life ! for we have toiled 

all night 
And have caught nothing. 

JOHN. 

Do ye see a man 

Standing upon the beach and beckon- 
ing ? 

'T is like an apparition. He hath 
kindled 

A fire of coals, and seems to wait for 
us. 

He calleth. 

christus, from the shore. 

Children, have ye any meat ? 

PETER. 

Alas ! We have caught nothing. 

christus. 

Cast the net 
On the right side of the ship, and ye 

721 



shall find. 



PETER. 

How that reminds me of the days gone 

by, 
And one who said: Launch out into 

the deep, 
And cast your nets ! 

NATHANAEL. 

We have but let them down 
And they are filled, so that we cannot 
draw them ! 

JOHN. 

It is the Lord ! 

peter, girding his fisher's coat about 
him. 
He said : When I am risen 
I will go before you into Galilee ! 
He casts himself into the lake. 

JOHN. 

There is no fear in love; for perfect 

love 
Casteth out fear. Now then, if ye are 

men, 



53* 



CHRISTUS : A MYSTERY 



Put forth your strength; we are not 
far from shore ; 730 

The net is heavy, but breaks not. All 
is safe. 

peter, on the shore. 
Dear Lord! I heard thy voice and 

could not wait. 
Let me behold thy face, and kiss thy 

feet! 
Thou art not dead, thou livest ! Again 

I see thee. 
Pardon, dear Lord ! I am a sinful 

man; 
I have denied thee thrice. Have 

mercy on me ! 

the others, coming to land. 
Dear Lord ! stay with us ! cheer us ! 

comfort us! 
Lo ! we again have found thee ! Leave 

us not ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Bring hither of the fish that ye have 
caught, 739 

And come and eat ! 

JOHN. 

Behold ! He breaketh bread 
As He was wont. From his own 

blessSd hands 
Again we take it. 

CHRISTUS. 

Simon, son of Jonas, 
Lovest thou me, more than these 
others ? 

PETER. 

Yea, 
More, Lord, than all men ; even more 

than these. 
Thou knowest that I love thee. 

CHRISTUS. 

Feed my lambs. 
thomas, aside. 
How more than we do ? He remaineth 

ever 
Self-confident and boastful as before. 
Nothing will cure him. 



Lovest thou me ? 



CHRISTUS. 

Simon, son of Jonas, 



PETER. 

Yea, dearest Lord, I love thee. 
Thou knowest that I love thee. 

CHRISTUS. 

Feed my sheep. 

thomas, aside. 

Again, the selfsame question, and the 

answer 75 i 

Repeated with more vehemence. Can 

the Master 
Doubt if we love Him ? 

CHRISTUS. 

Simon, son of Jonas, 
Lovest thou me ? 

peter, grieved. 
Dear Lord ! thou knowest all things. 
Thou knowest that I love thee. 

CHRISTUS. 

Feed my sheep. 
When thou wast young thou girdedst 

thyself, and walkedst 
Whither thou wouldst ; but when thou 

shalt be old, 
Thou shalt stretch forth thy hands, 

and other men 
Shall gird and carry thee whither thou 

wouldst not. 
Follow thou me ! 

john, aside. 

It is a prophecy 760 
Of what death he shall die. 

peter, pointing to john. 

Tell me, O Lord, 
And what shall this man do ? 

CHRISTUS. 

And if I will 
He tarry till I come, what is it to 

thee ? 
Follow thou me ! 

PETER. 

Yea, I will follow thee, dear Lord 

and Master! 
Will follow thee through fasting and 

temptation, 
Through all thine agony and bloody 

sweat, 
Thy cross and passion, even unto 

death ! 



THE ABBOT JOACHIM 



533 



EPILOGUE 

SYMBOLUM APOSTOLORUM 
PETER. 

I believe in God the Father Al- 
mighty; 

JOHN. 

Maker of Heaven and Earth ; 

JAMES. 

And in Jesus Christ his only Son, our 
Lord; 

ANDREW. 

Who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, 
born of the Virgin Mary ; 

PHILIP. 

Suffered under Pontius Pilate, was 
crucified, dead, and buried ; 

THOMAS. 

And the third day He rose again from 
the dead ; 

BARTHOLOMEW. 

He ascended into Heaven, and sitteth 
on the right hand of God, the 
Father Almighty ; 

MATTHEW. 

From thence He shall come to judge 
the quick and the dead. 

JAMES, THE SON OF ALPHEUS. 

I believe in the Holy Ghost ; the holy 
Catholic Church ; 

SIMON ZELOTES. 

The communion of Saints ; the for- 
giveness of sins ; 

JUDE. 

The resurrection of the body ; 

MATTHIAS. 

And the Life Everlasting. 

FIRST INTERLUDE 
THE ABBOT JOACHIM 

A ROOM IN THE CONVENT OF FLORA 
IN CALABRIA. NIGHT. 

JOACHIM. 

The wind is rising ; it seizes and shakes 
The doors and window-blinds and 
makes 



Mysterious moanings in the halls ; 
The convent-chimneys seem almost 
The trumpets of some heavenly host, 
Setting its watch upon our walls ! 
Where it listeth, there it bloweth ; 
We hear the sound, but no man 

knoweth 
Whence it cometh or whither it goeth, 
And thus it is with the Holy Ghost. 10 

breath of God ! O my delight 
In many a vigil of the night, 

Like the great voice in Patmos heard 
By John, the Evangelist of the Word, 

1 hear thee behind me saying : Write 
In a book the things that thou hast 

seen, 
The things that are, and that have 

been, 
And the things that shall hereafter be ! 

This convent, on the rocky crest 
Of the Calabrian hills, to me 20 

A Patmos is wherein I rest ; 
While round about me like a sea 
The white mists roll, and overflow 
The world that lies unseen below 
In darkness and in mystery. 
Here in the Spirit, in the vast 
Embrace of God's encircling arm, 
Am I uplifted from all harm ; 
The world seems something far away, 
Something belonging to the Past, 30 
A hostelry, a peasant's farm, 
That lodged me for a night or day, 
In which I care not to remain, 
Nor having left, to see again. 

Thus, in the hollow of God's hand 

I dwelt on sacred Tabor's height, 

When as a simple acolyte 

I journeyed to the Holy Land, 

A pilgrim for my master's sake, 

And saw the Galilean Lake, 4 o 

And walked through many a village 

street 
That once had echoed to his feet. 
There first I heard the great com- 
mand, 
The voice behind me saying : Write ! 
And suddenly my soul became 
Illumined by a flash of flame, 
That left imprinted on my thought 
The image I in vain had sought, 
And which forever shall remain ; 
As sometimes from these windows 
high, 50 



534 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Gazing at midnight on the sky- 
Black with a storm of wind and rain, 
I have beheld a sudden glare 
Of lightning lay the landscape bare, 
With tower and town and hill and 

plain 
Distinct, and burnt into my brain, 
Never to be effaced again ! 

And I have written. These volumes 

three, 
The Apocalypse, the Harmony 
Of the Sacred Scriptures, new and 
old, 60 

And the Psalter with Ten Strings, en- 
fold 
Within their pages, all and each, 
The Eternal Gospel that I teach. 
Well I remember the Kingdom of 

Heaven 
Hath been likened to a little leaven 
Hidden in two measures of meal, 
Until it leavened the whole mass; 
So likewise will it come to pass 
With the doctrines that I here conceal. 

Open and manifest to me 70 

The truth appears, and must be told ; 
All sacred mysteries are threefold ; 
Three Persons in the Trinity, 
Three ages of Humanity, 
And Holy Scriptures likewise three, 
Of Fear, of Wisdom, and of Love ; 
For Wisdom that begins in Fear 
Endeth in Love ; the atmosphere 
In which the soul delights to be, 
And finds that perfect liberty 80 

Which cometh only from above. 

In the first Age, the early prime 
And dawn of all historic time, 
The Father reigned ; and face to face 
He spake with the primeval race. 
Bright Angels, on his errands sent, 
Sat with the patriarch in his tent ; 
His prophets thundered in the street ; 
His lightnings flashed, his hailstorms 

beat; 
In earthquake and in flood and flame, 90 
In tempest and in cloud He came ! 
The fear of God is in his Book ; 
The pages of the Pentateuch 
Are full of the terror of his name. 

Then reigned the Son ; his Covenant 
Was peace on earth, good-will to man ; 



With Him the reign of Law began. 
He was the Wisdom and the Word, 
And sent his Angels Ministrant, 
Unterrified and undeterred, 100 

To rescue souls forlorn and lost, 
The troubled, tempted, tempest-tost 
To heal, to comfort, and to teach. 
The fiery tongues of Pentecost 
His, symbols were, that they should 

preach 
In every form of human speech, 
From continent to continent. 
He is the Light Divine, whose rays 
Across the thousand years unspent 
Shine through the darkness of our 

days, no 

And touch with their celestial fires 
Our churches and our convent spires. 
His Book is the New Testament. 

These Ages now are of the Past ; 
And the Third Age begins at last. 
The coming of the Holy Ghost, 
The reign of Grace, the reign of Love 
Brightens the mountain-tops above, 
And the dark outline of the coast. 
Already the whole land is white 120 
With convent walls, as if by night 
A snow had fallen on hill and height ! 
Already from the streets and marts 
Of town and traffic, and low cares, 
Men climb the consecrated stairs 
With weary feet, and bleeding hearts; 
And leave the world, and its delights, 
Its passions, struggles, and despairs, 
For contemplation and for prayers 
In cloister-cells of coenobites. 130 

Eternal benedictions rest 
Upon thy name, Saint Benedict ! 
Founder of convents in the West, 
Who built on Mount Cassino's crest 
In the Land of Labor, thine eagle's 

nest ! 
May I be found not derelict 
In aught of faith or godly fear, 
If I have written, in many a page, 
The Gospel of the coming age, 
The Eternal Gospel men shall hear. 140 
Oh may I live resembling thee, 
And die at last as thou hast died ; 
So that hereafter men may see, 
Within the choir, a form of air, 
Standing with arms outstretched in 

prayer, 
As one that hath been crucified ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



535 



My work is finished ; I am strong 
In faith and hope and charity ; 
For I have written the things I see, 
The things that have been and shall 

be, 150 

Conscious of right, nor fearing 

wrong ; 
Because I am in love with Love, 
And the sole thing I hate is Hate ; 
For Hate is death ; and Love is life, 
A peace, a splendor from above ; 
And Hate, a never-ending strife, 
A smoke, a blackness from the abyss 
Where unclean serpents coil and hiss ! 
Love is the Holy Ghost within ; 
Hate the unpardonable sin! 160 

Who preaches otherwise than this, 
Betrays his Master with a kiss ! 



PAKT TWO 

THE GOLDEN LEGEND 
PROLOGUE 

THE SPIRE OF STRASBURG CATHE- 
DRAL 

Night and storm. Lucifer, with the 
Powers of the Air, trying to tear 
down the Gross. 

LUCIFER. 

Hasten! hasten! 

O ye spirits ! 

From its station drag the ponderous 

Cross of iron, that to mock us 

Is uplifted high in air ! 

VOICES. 

Oh, we cannot! 

For around it 

All the Saints and Guardian Angels 

Throng in legions to protect it ; 

They defeat us everywhere ! 10 

THE BELLS. 

Laudo Deum verum ! 
Plebem voco ! 
Congrego clerum ! 

LUCIFER. 

Lower! lower! 

Hover downward ! 

Seize the loud, vociferous bells, and 



Clashing, clanging, to the pavement 
Hurl them from their windy tower ! 

VOICES. 

All thy thunders 

Here are harmless! 20 

For these bells have been anointed, 
And baptized with holy water ! 
They defy our utmost power. 

THE BELLS. 

Def unctos ploro ! 
Pestem f ugo ! 
Festa decoro ! 

LUCIFER. 

Shake the casements ! 

Break the painted 

Panes, that flame with gold and crim. 

son ; 
Scatter them like leaves of Autumn, 30 
Swept away before the blast ! 

VOICES. 

Oh, we cannot ! 

The Archangel 

Michael flames from every window, 

With the sword of fire that drove us 

Headlong, out of heaven, aghast ! 

THE BELLS. 

Fun era plango ! 
Fulgura f ran go! 
Sabbata pango ! 

LUCIFER. 

Aim your lightnings 40 

At the oaken, 

Massive, iron-studded portals! 
Sack the house of God, and scatter 
Wide the ashes of the dead 1 

VOICES. 

Oh, we cannot ! 

The Apostles 

And the Martyrs, wrapped in mantles, 

Stand as warders at the entrance, 

Stand as sentinels o'erhead! 



THE BELLS. 

Excito lentos! 
Dissipo ventos! 
Paco cruentos ! 

LUCIFER. 

BafHed! baftled! 

Inefficient, 

Craven spirits ! leave this labor 



50 



536 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Unto Time, the great Destroyer ! 
Come away, ere night is gone ! 

VOICES. 

Onward ! onward ! 

With the night-wind, 

Over field and farm and forest, 60 

Lonely homestead, darksome hamlet, 

Blighting all we breathe upon ! 

away. Organ and Grego- 
rian Chant. 

CHOIR. 

Nocte surgentes 
Vigilemus omnes ! 



THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON 
THE RHINE 

A chamber in a tower. Prince Henry, 
sitting alone, ill and restless. Mid- 
night. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

I cannot sleep ! my fervid brain 
Calls up the vanished Past again, 
And throws its misty splendors deep 
Into the pallid realms of sleep ! 
A breath from that far-distant shore 
Comes freshening ever more and 

more, 
And wafts o'er intervening seas 
Sweet 'odors from the Hesperides! 
A wind, that through the corridor 
Just stirs the curtain, and no more, 10 
And, touching the seolian strings, 
Faints with the burden that it brings ! 
Come back! ye friendships long de- 
parted ! 
That like o'erflowing streamlets 

started, 
And now are dwindled, one by one, 
To stony channels in the sun ! 
Come back! ye friends, whose lives 

are ended, 
Come back, with all that light at- 
tended, 
Which seemed to darken and decay 
When ye arose and went away ! 20 

They come, the shapes of joy and 

woe, 
The airy crowds of long ago, 



The dreams and fancies known of 

yore, 
That have been, and shall be no more. 
They change the cloisters of the night 
Into a garden of delight ; 
They make the dark and dreary hours 
Open and blossom into flowers ! 
I would not sleep ! I love to be 
Again in their fair company ; 30 

But ere my lips can bid them stay, 
They pass and vanish quite away ! 
Alas ! our memories may retrace 
Each circumstance of time and place, 
Season and scene come back again, 
And outward things unchanged re- 
main; 
The rest we cannot reinstate ; 
Ourselves we cannot re-create, 
Nor set our souls to the same key 
Of the remembered harmony ! 40 

Rest ! rest ! Oh, give me rest and 

peace ! 
The thought of life that ne'er shall 

cease 
Has something in it like despair, 
A weight I am too weak to bear! 
Sweeter to this afflicted breast 
The thought of never-ending rest ! 
Sweeter the undisturbed and deep 
Tranquillity of endless sleep ! 48 

A flash of lightning, out of which Lu- 
cifer appears, in the garb of a trav- 
elling Physician. 

LUCIFER. 

All hail, Prince Henry 1 

prince henry, starting. 

Who is it speaks ? 
Who and what are you ? 

LUCIFER. 

One who seeks 
A moment's audience with the Prince. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

When came you in ? 

LUCIFER. 

A moment since. 
I found your study door unlocked, 
And thought you answered when I 
knocked. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

I did not hear you. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



537 



LUCIFER. 

You heard the thunder ; 
It was loud enough to waken the dead. 
And it is not a matter of special won- 
der 57 
That, when God is walking overhead, 
You should not hear my feeble tread. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

What may your wish or purpose be ? 

LUCIFER. 

Nothing or everything, as it pleases 
Your Highness. You behold in me 
Only a travelling Physician ; 
One of the few who have a mission 
To cure incurable diseases, 
Or those that are called so. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Can you bring 
The dead to life ? 

LUCIFER. 

Yes ; very nearly. 
And, what is a wiser and better thing, 
Can keep the living from ever needing 
Such an unnatural, strange proceed- 
ing, 7 o 



By showing conclusively and clearly 

That death is a stupid blunder merely, 

And not a necessity of our lives. 

My being here is accidental ; 

The storm, that against your casement 
drives, 

In the little village below waylaid 
me. 

And there I heard with a secret de- 
light, 

Of your maladies physical and men- 
tal, 

Which neither astonished nor dis- 
mayed me. 

And I hastened hither, though late in 
the night, 80 

To proffer my aid ! 

prince henry, ironically. 

For this you came ! 
Ah, how can I ever hope to requite 
This honor from one so erudite ? 

LUCIFER. 

The honor is mine, or will be when 
I have cured your disease. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

But not till then. 




" You behold in me 
Only a travelling Physician " 



53« 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



LUCIFER. 

What is your illness ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

It has no name. 
A smouldering, dull, perpetual flame, 
As in a kiln, burns in my veins, 
Sending up vapors to the head ; 
My heart has become a dull lagoon, 90 
Which a kind of leprosy drinks and 

drains ; 
I am accounted as one who is dead, 
And, indeed, I think that I shall be 

soon. 

LUCIFER. 

And has G-ordonius the Divine, 
In his famous Lily of Medicine, — 
I see the book lies open before you, — 
No remedy potent enough to restore 
you? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

None whatever ! 

LUCIFER. 

The dead are dead, 

And their oracles dumb, when ques- 
tioned 

Of the new diseases that human life 

Evolves in its progress, rank and rife. 

Consult the dead upon things that 
were 

But the living only on things that are. 

Have you done this, by the appliance 

And aid of doctors ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Ay, whole schools 
Of doctors, with their learned rules ; 
But the case is quite beyond their 

science. 
Even the doctors of Salern 
Send me back word they can discern 
No cure for a malady like this, no 
Save one which in its nature is 
Impossible and cannot be ! 

LUCIFER. 

That sounds oracular ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Unendurable ! 

LUCIFER. 

What is their remedy ? 



PRINCE HENRY. 

You shall see ; 
Writ in this scroll is the mystery. 

lucifer, reading. 
"Not to be cured, yet not incurable ! 
The only remedy that remains 
Is the blood that flows from a maid- 
en's veins, 
Who of her own free will shall die, 
And give her life as the price of 
yours!" 120 

That is the strangest of all cures, 
And one, I think, you will never try ; 
The prescription you may well put by, 
As something impossible to find 
Before the world itself shall end ! 
And yet who knows ? One cannot say 
That into some maiden's brain that 

kind 
Of madness will not find its way. 
Meanwhile permit me to recommend, 
As the matter admits of no delay, 130 
My wonderful Catholicon, 
Of very subtile and magical powers ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Purge with your nostrums and drugs 

infernal 
The spouts and gargoyles of these 

towers, 
Not me ! My faith is utterly gone 
In every power but the Power Super- 

.nal! 
Pray tell me, of what school are you ? 

LUCIFER. 

Both of the Old and of the New ! 
The school of Hermes Trismegistus, 
Who uttered his oracles sublime 140 
Before the Olympiads, in the dew 
Of the early dusk and dawn of time, 
The reign of dateless old Hephaestus ! 
As northward, from its Nubian 

springs, 
The Nile, forever new and old, 
Among the living and the dead, 
Its mighty, mystic stream has rolled ; 
So, starting from its fountain-head 
Under the lotus-leaves of Isis, 
From the dead demigods of eld, »so 
Through long, unbroken lines of kings 
Its course the sacred art has held, 
Unchecked, unchanged by man's de- 
vices. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



539 



This art the Arabian Geber taught, 
And in alembics, finely wrought, 
Distilling herbs and flowers, discov- 
ered 
The secret that so long had hov- 
ered 
Upon the misty verge of Truth, 
The Elixir of Perpetual Youth, 159 
Called Alcohol, in the Arab speech ! 
Like him, this wondrous lore I teach ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

What ! an adept ? 

LUCIFER. 

Nor less, nor more ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

I am a reader of your books, 

A lover of that mystic lore ! 

With such a piercing glance it looks 

Into great Nature's open eye, 

And sees within it trembling lie 

The portrait of the Deity! 

And yet, alas ! with all my pains, 

The secret and the mystery 170 

Have baffled and eluded me, 

Unseen the grand result remains ! 

lucifer, showing a flask. 
Behold it here ! this little flask 
Contains the wonderful quintessence, 
The perfect flower and efflorescence, 
Of all the knowledge man can ask ! 
Hold it up thus against the light ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

How limpid, pure, and crystalline, 
How quick, and tremulous, and 

bright 
The little wavelets dance and shine, 180 
As were it the Water of Life in sooth ! 

LUCIFER. 

It is ! It assuages every pain, 
Cures all disease, and gives again 
To age the swift delights of youth. 
Inhale its fragrance. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

It is sweet. 
A thousand different odors meet 
And mingle in its rare perfume, 
Such as the winds of summer waft 
At open windows through a room ! 



LUCIFER. 

Will you not taste it ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Will one draught 
Suffice ? 

LUCIFER. 

If not, you can drink more. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Into this crystal goblet pour 192 

So much as safely I may drink. 

lucifer,' pouring. 
Let not the quantity alarm you ; 
You may drink all ; it will not harm 
you. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

I am as one who on the brink 
Of a dark river stands and sees 
The waters flow, the landscape dim 
Around him waver, wheel, and swim, 
And, ere he plunges, stops to think 200 
Into what whirlpools he may sink ; 
One moment pauses, and no more, 
Then madly plunges from the shore ! 
Headlong into the mysteries 
Of life and death I boldly leap. 
Nor fear the fateful current's sweep, 
Nor what in ambush lurks below ! 
For death is better than disease ! 

An Angel with an ceolian harp hover* 
in the air. 

ANGEL. 

Woe ! woe ! eternal woe ! 

Not only the whispered prayer 210 

Of love, 

But the imprecations of hate, 

Reverberate 

For ever and ever through the air 

Above ! 

This fearful curse 

Shakes the great universe ! 



LUCIFER, 

Drink ! drink ! 

And thy soul shall sink 

Down into the dark abyss, 22c 

Into the infinite abyss. 

From which no plummet nor rope 

Ever drew up the silver sand of hope. 

prince henry, drinking. 
It is like a draught of fire ! 
Through every vein 



540 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



I feel again 

The fever of youth, the soft desire ; 
A rapture that is almost pain 
Throbs in my heart and fills my brain, 

joy ! O joy ! I feel 230 
The band of steel 

That so long and heavily has pressed 

Upon my breast 

Uplifted, and the malediction 

Of my affliction 

Is taken from me, and my weary 

breast 
At length finds rest. 

THE ANGEL. 

It is but the rest of the fire, from 

which the air has been taken ! 
It is but the rest of the sand, when the 

hour-glass is not shaken ! 
It is but the rest of the tide between 

the ebb and the flow ! 240 

It is but the rest of the wind between 

the flaws that blow ! 
With fiendish laughter, 
Hereafter, 
This false physician 
Will mock thee in thy perdition. 

PRINCE HENRY 

Speak ! speak ! 

Who says that I am ill ? 

1 am not ill ! I am not weak ! 

The trance, the swoon, the dream, is 

o'er! 
I feel the chill of death no more ! 250 
At length, 

I stand renewed in all my strength ! 
Beneath me I can feel 
The great earth stagger and reel, 
As if the feet of a descending God 
Upon its surface trod, 
And like a pebble it rolled beneath his 

heel! 
This, O brave physician ! this 
Is thy great Palingenesis ! 
Drinks again. 

THE ANGEL. 

Touch the goblet no more! 260 

It will make thy heart sore 

To its very core ! 

Its perfume is the breath 

Of the Angel of Death, 

And the light that within it lies 

Is the flash of his evil eyes. 

Beware! Oh, beware! 



For sickness, sorrow, and care 
All are there ! 

prince henry, sinking bach 

thou voice within my breast ! 270 
Why entreat me, why upbraid me, 
When the steadfast tongues of truth 
And the flattering hopes of youth 
Have all deceived me and betrayed 

me? 
Give me, give me rest, oh rest ! 
Golden visions wave and hover, 
Golden vapors, waters streaming, 
Landscapes moving, changing, gleam- 
ing ! 

1 am like a happy lover, 279 
Who illumines life with dreaming ! 
Brave physician ! Rare physician ! 
Well hast thou fulfilled thy mission ! 

His head falls on his book. 
the angel, receding. 
Alas! alas! 

Like a vapor the golden vision 
Shall fade and pass, 
And thou wilt find in thy heart again 
Only the blight of pain, 
And bitter, bitter, bitter contrition ! 

COURT-YARD OP THE CASTLE. 

Hubert, standing by the gateway. 

HUBERT. 

How sad the grand old castle looks ! 
O'erhead, the unmolested rooks 290 
Upon the turret's windy top 
Sit, talking of the farmer's crop ; 
Here in the court -yard springs the 

grass, 
So few are now the feet that pass ; 
The stately peacocks, bolder grown, 
Come hopping down the steps of 

stone, 
As if the castle were their own ; 
And I, the poor old seneschal, 
Haunt, like a ghost, the banquet-hall. 
Alas ! the merry guests no more 30*? 
Crowd through the hospitable door r : 
No eyes with youth and passioK 

shine, 
No cheeks glow redder than the wine ; 
No song, no laugh, no jovial din 
Of drinking wassail to the pin ; 
But all is silent, sad, and drear, 
And now the only sounds I hear 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



54' 




; The trance, the swoon, the dream is o'er ! 
I feel the chill of death no more ! " 



Are the hoarse rooks upon the walls, 
And horses stamping in their stalls ! 

A horn sounds. 
"What ho! that merry, sudden blast 310 
Reminds me of the days long past ! 
And, as of old resounding, grate 
The heavy hinges of the gate, 
And, clattering loud, with iron clank, 
Down goes the sounding bridge of 

plank, 
As if it were in haste to greet 
The pressure of a traveller's feet ! 

Enter Walter the Minnesinger. 



How 



WALTER. 

my friend ! 



This looks 



now, 

quite louely ! 
No banner flying from the walls, 
No pages and no seneschals, 320 

No warders, and one porter only ! 
Is it you, Hubert ? 

HUBERT. 

Ah ! Master Walter ! 



WALTER. 

Alas ! how forms and faces alter ! 

I did not know you. You look older ! 

Your hair has grown much grayer 

and thinner, 
And you stoop a little in the shoulder! 

HUBERT. 

Alack ! I am a poor old sinner, 
And, like these towers, begin to 

moulder ; 
And you have been absent many a 

year ! 

WALTER. 

How is the Prince? 

HUBERT. 

He is not here ; 
He has been ill : and now has fled. 331 

WALTER. 

Speak it out frankly : say he 's dead ! 
Is it not so ? 



542 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



HUBERT. 

No ; if you please, 
A strange, mysterious disease 
Fell on him with a sudden blight, 
Whole hours together he would stand 
Upon the terrace, in a dream, 
Resting his head upon his hand, 
Best pleased when he was most alone, 
Like Saint John Nepomuck in stone, 
Looking down into a stream. 341 

In the Round Tower, night after 

night, 
He sat and bleared his eyes with 

books ; 
Until one morning we found him 

there 
Stretched on the floor, as if in a swoon 
He had fallen from his chair. 
We hardly recognized his sweet looks ! 



WALTER. 



Poor Prince ! 



HUBERT. 

I think he might have mended ; 
And he did mend ; but very soon 
The priests came nocking in, like 

rooks, 350 

With all their crosiers and their 

crooks, 
And so at last the matter ended. 

WALTER. 

How did it end? 

HUBERT. 

Why, in Saint Rochus 
They made him stand, and wait his 

doom; 
And, as if he were condemned to the 

tomb, 
Began to mutter their hocus-pocus. 
First, the Mass for the Dead they 

chanted, 
Then three times laid upon his head 
A shovelful of churchyard clay, 359 
Saying to him, ashe stood undaunted, 
"This is a sign th'at thou art dead, 
So in thy heart be penitent ! " 
And forth from the chapel door he 

went 
Into disgrace and banishment, 
Clothed in a cloak of hodden gray, 
And bearing a wallet, and a bell, 
Whose sound should be a perpetual 

knell 
To keep all travellers away. 



WALTER. 



Oh, horrible fate ! Outcast, rejected, 
As one with pestilence infected ! 



370 



HUBERT. 



Then was the family tomb unsealed, 
And broken helmet, sword, and 

shield, 
Buried together, in common wreck, 
As is the custom, when the last 
Of any princely house has passed, 
And thrice, as with a trumpet-blast, 
A herald shouted down the stair 
The words of warning and despair, — 
' ' O Hoheneck ! O Hoheneck ! " 

WALTER. 

Still in my soul that cry goes on, — 
Forever gone ! forever gone ! 381 

Ah, what a cruel sense of loss, 
Like a black shadow, would fall across 
The hearts of all, if he should die ! 
His gracious presence upon earth 
Was as a fire upon a hearth ; 
As pleasant songs, at morning sung, 
The words that dropped from his 

sweet tongue 
Strengthened our hearts ; or heard at 

night, 
Made all our slumbers soft and light. 
Where is he ? 391 

HUBERT. 

In the Odenwald. 
Some of his tenants, unappalled 
By fear of death, or priestly word, — 
A holy family, that make 
Each meal a Supper of the Lord, — 
Have him beneath their watch and 

ward, 
For love of him, and Jesus' sake ! 
Pray you come in. For why should I 
With out-door hospitality 
My prince's friend thus entertain? 400 

WALTER. 

I would a moment here remain. 
But, you, good Hubert, go before, 
Fill me a goblet of May-drink, 
As aromatic as the May 
From which it steals the breath away, 
And which he loved so well of yore ; 
It is of him that I would think. 
You shall attend me, when I call, 
In the ancestral banquet-hall. 
Unseen companions, guests of air, 410 
You cannot wait on, will be there ; 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



543 




. . . " broken helmet, sword, and shield, 
Buried together, in common wreck " 



They taste not food 
wine, 

But their soft eyes look into mine, 

And their lips speak to me, and all 

The vast and shadowy banquet-hall 

Is full of looks and words divine ! 
Leaning over the parapet. 

The day is done ; and slowly from the 
scene 

The stooping sun up-gathers his spent 
shafts, 

And puts them back into his golden 
quiver ! 

Below me in the valley, deep and 
green 420 

As goblets are, from which in thirsty 
draughts 

We drink its wine, the swift and man- 
tling river 

Flows on triumphant through these 
lovely regions, 

itched with the shadows of its som- 
bre margent, 

And soft, reflected clouds of gold and 
argent ! 

Yes, there it flows, forever, broad and 
still 



As when the vanguard of the Roman 

legions 
First saw it from the top of yonder 

hill! 
How beautiful it is ! Fresh fields of 

wheat, 
Vineyard, and town, and tower with 

fluttering flag, 430 

The consecrated chapel on the crag, 
And the white hamlet gathered round 

its base, 
Like Mary sitting at her Saviour's 

feet 
And looking up at his beloved face ! 
O friend ! O best of friends I Thy ab- 
sence more 
Than the impending night darkens the 

landscape o'er ! 



544 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



II 



A FARM IN THE ODENWALD 

A garden; morning; Prince Henry 
seated, with a book. Elsie at a dis- 
tance gathering flowers. 

prince henry, reading. 
One morning, all alone, 
Out of his convent of gray stone, 
Into the forest older, darker, grayer, 
His lips moving as if in prayer, 
His head sunken upon his breast 
As in a dream of rest, 
Walked the Monk Felix. All about 
The broad, sweet sunshine lay with- 
out, 
Filling the summer air ; 9 

And within the woodlands as he trod, 
The dusk was like the Truce of God 
With worldly woe and care ; 
Under him lay the golden moss ; 
And above him the boughs of hoary 

trees 
Waved, and made the sign of the 

cross, 
And whispered their Benedicites ; 
And from the ground 
Rose an odor sweet and fragrant 
Of the wild-flowers and the vagrant 
Vines that wandered, 20 

Seeking the sunshine, round and 
round. 

These he heeded not, but pondered 

On the volume in his hand, 

Wherein amazed he read : 

" A thousand years in thy sight 

Are but as yesterday when it is past, 

And as a watch in the night ! " 

And with his eyes downcast 

In humility he said : 

" I believe, O Lord, 30 

What is written in thy Word, 

But alas ! I do not understand 1 " 

And lo ! he heard 
The sudden singing of a bird, 
A snow-white bird, that from a cloud 
Dropped down, 

And among the branches brown 
Sat singing, 

So sweet, and clear, and loud, 
It seemed a thousand harp-strings 
ringing, 40 



And the Monk Felix closed his book, 

And long, long, 

With rapturous look, 

He listened to the song, 

And hardly breathed or stirred, 

Until he saw, as in a vision, 

The land Elysian, 

And in the heavenly city heard 

Angelic feet 

Fall on the golden flagging of the 

street. 50 

And he would fain 
Have caught the wondrous bird, 
But strove in vain ; 
For it flew away, away, 
Far over hill and dell, 
And instead of its sweet singing 
He heard the convent bell 
Suddenly in the silence ringing 
For the service of noonday. 
And he retraced 60 

His pathway homeward sadly and in 

haste. 

In the convent there was a change ! 
He looked for each well-known face, 
But the faces were new and strange; 
New figures sat in the oaken stalls, 
New voices chanted in the choir; 
Yet the place was the same place, 
The same dusky walls 
Of cold, gray stone, 
The same cloisters and belfry and 
spire. 70 

A stranger and alone 

Among that brotherhood 

The Monk Felix stood. 

' ' Forty years, " said a Friar, 

" Have I been Prior 

Of this convent in the wood, 

But for that space 

Never have I beheld thy face I " 

The heart of the Monk Felix fell : 
And he answered, with submissive 

tone, 80 

"This morning, after the hour of 

Prime, 
I left my cell, 
And wandered forth alone, 
Listening all the time 
To the melodious singing 
Of a beautiful white bird, 
Until I heard 
The bells of the convent ringing 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



545 



Noon from their noisy towers. 
It was as if I dreamed ; 90 

For what to me had seemed 
Moments only, had been hours ! " 

" Years! " said a voice close by. 

It was an aged monk who spoke, 

From a bench of oak 

Fastened against the wall ; — 

He was the oldest monk of all. 

For a whole century 

Had he been there, 

Serving God in prayer, 100 

The meekest ancl humblest of his crea- 
tures. 

He remembered well the features 

Of Felix, and he said, 

Speaking distinct and slow : 

" One hundred years ago, 

When I was a novice in this place, 

There was here a monk, full of God's 
grace, 

Who bore the name 

Of Felix, and this man must be the 
same." 

And straightway no 

They brought forth to the light of 

day 
A volume old and brown, 
A huge tome, bound 
In brass and wild-boar's hide, 
Wherein were written down 
The names of all who had died 
In the convent, since it was edified. 
And there they found, 
Just as the old monk said, 
That on a certain day and date, 120 
One hundred years before, 
Had gone forth from the convent gate 
The Monk Felix, and never more 
Had entered that sacred door. 
He had been counted among the dead ! 
And they knew, at last, 
That, such had been the power 
Of that celestial and immortal song, 
A hundred years had passed, 
And had not seemed so long 130 

As a single hour ! 

Elsie comes in with flowers. 



Here are flowers for you, 
But they are not all for you. 
Some of them are for the Virgin 
And for Saint Cecilia. 



PRINCE HENRY. 

As thou standest there, 
Thou seemest to me like the angel 
That brought the immortal roses 
To Saint Cecilia's bridal chamber. 

ELSIE. 

But these will fade. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Themselves will fade. 

But not their memory, 

And memory has the power 

To re-create them from the dust. 

They remind me, too, 

Of martyred Dorothea, 

Who from celestial gardens sent 

Flowers as her witnesses 

To him who scoffed and doubted. 



Do you know the story 150 

Of Christ and the Sultan's daughter ? 
That is the prettiest legend of them 
all. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Then tell it to me, 

But first come hither. 

Lay the flowers down beside me, 

And put both thy hands in mine. 

Now tell me the story. 



Early in the morning 
The Sultan's daughter 
Walked in her father's garden. 
Gathering the bright flowers, 
All full of dew. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Just as thou hast been doing 
This morning, dearest Elsie. 



And as she gathered them 

She wondered more and more 

Who was the Master of the flowers, 

And made them grow 

Out of the cold, dark earth. 

" In my heart," she said, 170 

"I love him; and for him 

Would leave my father's palace, 

To labor in his garden." 



546 CHRISTUS: 


A MYSTERY 


PRINCE HENRY. 


When a hand suddenly 


Dear, innocent child ! 


Is laid upon it, and removed 1 


How sweetly thou recallest 




The long-forgotten legend, 


ELSIE. 


That in my early childhood 


And at midnight, 


My mother told me ! 


As she lay upon her bed, 


Upon my brain 


She heard a voice 


It reappears once more, 180 


Call to her from the garden, 


A.S a birth-mark on the forehead 


And, looking forth from her window, 




" Now tell me the story " 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



547 



She saw a beautiful youth 

Standing among the flowers. 190 

It was the Lord Jesus; 

And she went down to Him, 

And opened the door for Him ; 

And He said to her, " O maiden ! 

Thou hast thought of me with love, 

And for thy sake 

Out of my Father's kingdom 

Have I come hither : 

I am the Master of the Flowers. 

My garden is in Paradise, 200 

And if thou wilt go with me, 

Thy bridal garland 

Shall be of bright red flowers." 

And then He took from his finger 

A golden ring, 

And asked the Sultan's daughter 

If she would be his bride. 

And when she answered Him with 
love, 

His wounds began to bleed, 

And she said to him, 210 

" O Love ! how red thy heart is, 

And thy hands are full of roses." 

"For thy sake," answered He, 

" For thy sake is my heart so red, 

For thee I bring these roses ; 

I gathered them at the cross 

Whereon I died for thee ! 

Come, for my father calls. 

Thou art my elected bride ! " 

And the Sultan's daughter 220 

Followed Him to his Father's gar- 
den. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Wouldst thou have done so, Elsie ? 

ELSIE. 

Yes, very gladly. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Then the Celestial Bridegroom 

Will come for thee also. 

Upon thy forehead He will place, 

Not his crown of thorns, 

But a crown of roses, 

In thy bridal chamber. 

Like Saint Cecilia, 230 

Thou shalt hear sweet music, 

And breathe the fragrance 

Of flowers immortal ! 

Go now and place these flowers 

Before her picture. 



A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE 

Twilight. Ursula spinning. Gott- 
lieb asleep in his chair. 

URSULA. 

Darker and darker ! Hardly a glim 

mer 
Of light comes in at the window-pane ; 
Or is it my eyes are growing dimmer? 
I cannot disentangle this skein, 
Nor wind it rightly upon the reel. 240 
Elsie ! 

Gottlieb, starting. 
The stopping of thy wheel 
Has awakened me out of a pleasant 

dream. 
I thought I was sitting beside a 

stream, 
And heard the grinding of a mill, 
When suddenly the wheels stood still, 
And a voice cried "Elsie " in my ear, 
It startled me, it seemed so near. 

URSULA. 

I was calling her : I want a light. 
I cannot see to spin my flax. 
Bring the lamp, Elsie. Dost thou 
hear ? 250 

elsie, within. 
In a moment ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

Where are Bertha and Max ? 

URSULA. 

They are sitting with Elsie at the 
door. 

She is telling them stories of the 
wood, 

And the Wolf, and little Red Riding- 
hood. 

GOTTLIEB. 

And where is the Prince? 

URSULA. 

In his room overhead ; 
I heard him walking across the floor, 
As he always does, with a heavy 

tread. 
Elsie comes in with a lamp. Max and 
Bertha follow her; and they all sing 
the Evening Song on the lighting of 
the lamps. 



S4» 



CHRISTUS : A MYSTERY 



EVENING SONG 

gladsome light 

Of the Father Immortal, 

And of the celestial 260 

Sacred and blessed 

Jesus, our Saviour ! 

Now to the sunset 
Again hast thou brought us ; 
And, seeing the evening 
Twilight, we bless thee, 
Praise thee, adore thee! 

Father omnipotent ! 

Son, the Life-giver! 

Spirit, the Comforter ! 270 

Worthy at all times 

Of worship and wonder ! 

prince henry, at the door. 
Amen! 

URSULA. 

Who was it said Amen ? 

ELSIE. 

It was the Prince: he stood at the 

door, 
And listened a moment, as we chanted 
The evening song. He is gone again. 
I have often seen him there before. 

URSULA. 

Poor Prince ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

1 thought the house was haunted ! 
Poor Prince, alas ! and yet as mild 
And patient as the gentlest child ! 280 

MAX. 

I love him because he is so good, 

And makes me such fine bows and ar- 
rows, 

To shoot at the robins and the spar- 
rows, 

And the red squirrels in the wood ! 

BERTHA. 

I love him, too ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

Ah, yes ! we all 
Love him, from the bottom of our 

hearts ; 
He gave us the farm, the house, and 

the grange, 



He gave us the horses and the carts, 
And the great oxen in the stall, 289 
The vineyard, and the forest range! 
We have nothing to give him but our 
love! 

BERTHA. 

Did he give us the beautiful stork 

above 
On the chimney-top, with its large, 

round nest ? 

GOTTLIEB. 

No, not the stork ; by God in heaven, 
As a blessing, the dear white stork 

was given, 
But the Prince has given us all the 

rest. 
God bless him, and make him well 

again. 

ELSIE. 

Would I could do something for his 

sake, 
Something to cure his sorrow and 

pain ! 299 

GOTTLIEB. 

That no one can ; neither thou nor I, 
Nor any one else. 

ELSIE. 

And must he die? 

URSULA. 

Yes ; if the dear God does not take 
Pity upon him, in his distress, 
And work a miracle ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

Or unless 
Some maiden, of her own accord, 
Offers her life for that of her lord, 
And is willing to die in his stead. 

ELSIE. 

I will ! 

URSULA. 

Prithee, thou foolish child, be still ! 
Thou shouldst not say what thou dost 
not mean ! 309 

ELSIE. 

I mean it truly ! 

MAX. 

O father ! this morning, 
Down by the mill, in the ravine, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



549 




" The stopping of thy wheel 
Has awakened me out of a pleasant dream " 



Hans killed a wolf, the very same 
That in the night to the sheepf old came, 
And ate up my lamb, that was left 
outside. 

GOTTLIEB. 

I am glad he is dead. It will be a 

warning 
To the wolves in the forest, far and 

wide. 

MAX. 

And I am going to have his hide ! 

BERTHA. 

I wonder if this is the wolf that ate 
Little Red Ridinghood ! 

URSULA. 

Oh, no! 
That wolf w T as killed a long while ago. 
Come, children, it is growing late. 321 

MAX. 

Ah, how I wish I were a man, 
As stout as Hans is, and as strong ! 



I would do nothing else, the whoh 

day long, 
But just kill wolves. 

GOTTLIEB. 

Then go to bed, 
And grow as fast as a little boy can. 
Bertha is half asleep already. 
See how she nods her heavy head, 
And her sleepy feet are so unsteady 
She will hardly be able to creep up- 
stairs. 330 

URSULA. 

Good night, my children. Here 's the 

light. 
And do not forget to say your prayers 
Before you sleep. 

GOTTLIEB. 

Good night ! 

MAX and BERTHA. 

Good night ! 
TJiey go out with Elsie. 



55° 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Ursula, spinning. 
She is a strange and wayward child, 
That Elsie of ours. She looks so old. 
And thoughts and fancies weird and 

wild 
Seem of late to have taken hold 
Of her heart, that was once so docile 

and mild ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

She is like all girls. 

URSULA. 

Ah no, forsooth ! 
Unlike all I have ever seen. 340 

For she has visions and strange dreams 
And in all her words and ways, she 

seems 
Much older than she is in truth. 
Who would think her but fifteen ? . 
And there has been of late such a 

change ! 
My heart is heavy with fear and 

doubt 
That she may not live till the year is 

out. 
She is so strange, — so strange — so 

strange ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

I am not troubled with any such fear; 

She will live and thrive for many a 

year. 35° 

ELSIE'S CHAMBER 
Night. Elsie praying. 

ELSIE. 

My Redeemer and my Lord, 
I beseech thee, I entreat thee, 
Guide me in each act and word, 
That hereafter I may meet thee, 
Watching, waiting, hoping, yearning. 
With my lamp well trimmed and 
burning ! 

Interceding 
With these bleeding 
Wounds upon thy hands and side, 
For all who have lived and erred 360 
Thou hast suffered, thou hast died, 
Scourged, and mocked, and crucified, 
Aid in the grave hast thou been bur- 
ied! 



If my feeble prayer can reach thee, 

O my Saviour, I beseech thee, 

Even as thou hast died for me, 

More sincerely 

Let me follow where thou leadest, 

Let me, bleeding as thou bleed est, 

Die, if dying I may give 37 o 

Life to one who asks to live, 

And more nearly, 

Dying thus, resemble thee ! 



THE CHAMBER OF GOTTLIEB AND 
URSULA 

Midnight. Elsie standing by their 
bedside, weeping. 

GOTTLIEB. 

The wind is roaring ; the rushing rain 
Is loud upon roof and window-pane, 
As if the Wild Huntsman of Roden- 

stein, 
Boding evil to me and mine, 
Were abroad to-night with his ghostly 

train ! 
In the brief lulls of the tempest wild, 
The dogs howl in the yard ; and hark ! 
Some one is sobbing in the dark, 381 
Here in the chamber! 

ELSIE. 

It is L 

URSULA. 

Elsie ! what ails thee, my poor child ? 

ELSIE. 

I am disturbed and much distressed, 
In thinking our dear Prince must die ; 
I cannot close mine eyes, nor rest. 

GOTTLIEB. 

What wouldst thou ? In the Power 

Divine 
His healing lies, not in our own ; 
It is in the hand of God alone. 



ELSIE. 

Nay, He has put it into mine, 
And into my heart ! 



39° 



GOTTLIEB. 

Thy words are wild ! 

URSULA. 

What dost thou mean? my child ! my 
child ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



55^ 



That for our dear Prince Henry's sake 
I will myself the offering make. 
And give my li fe to purchase his. 

URSULA. 

Am I still dreaming, or awake ? 
Thou speakest carelessly of death, 
And yet thou knowest not what it is. 



'T is the cessation of our breath. 
Silent and motionless we lie ; 400 

And no one knoweth more than this. 
I saw our little Gertrude die; 
She left off breathing, and no more 
I smoothed the pillow beneath her 

head. 
She was more beautiful than before. 
Like violets faded were her eyes ; 
By this we knew that she was dead. 
Through the open window looked the 

skies 
Into the chamber where she lay, 
And the wind was like the sound of 

wings, 410 

As if angels came to bear her away. 



Ah ! when I saw and felt these things, 
I found it difficult to stay ; 
I longed to die, as she had died, 
And go forth with her, side by side. 
The Saints are dead, the Martyrs dead, 
And Mary, and our Lord ; and I 
Would follow in humility 
The way by them illumined ! 

UESULA. 

My child ! my child ! thou must not 
die ! 420 

ELSIE. 

Why should I live ? Do I not know 
The life of woman is full of woe ? 
Toiling on and on and on, 
With breaking heart, and tearful eyes, 
And silent lips, and in the soul 
The secret longings that arise, 
Which this world never satisfies ! 
Some more, some less, but of the 

whole 
Not one quite happy, no, not one ! 

URSULA. 

It is the malediction of Eve ! 430 




My child ! my child ! thou must not die J " 



55 2 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



ELSIE. 

In place of it, let me receive 
The benediction of Mary, then. 

GOTTLIEB. 

Ah, woe is me! Ah, woe is me! 
Most wretched am I among men ! 

URSULA. 

Alas ! that I should live to see 
Thy death, beloved, and to stand 
Above thy grave ! Ah, woe the day ! 

ELSIE. 

Thou wilt not see it. I shall lie 
Beneath the flowers of another land, 
For at Salerno, far away 44 o 

Over the mountains, over the sea, 
It is appointed me to die ! 
And it will seem no more to thee 
Than if at the village on market-day 
I should a little longer stay 
Than I am wont. 

URSULA. 

Even as thou sayest! 
And how my heart beats, when thou 

stayest ! 
I cannot rest until my sight 
Is satisfied with seeing thee. 449 

What then, if thou wert dead ? 

GOTTLIEB. 

Ah me! 

Of our old eyes thou art the light ! 
The joy of our old hearts art thou! 
And wilt thou die ? 

URSULA. 

Not now 1 not now ! 

ELSIE. 

Christ died for me, and shall not I 
Be willing for my Prince to die ? 
You both are silent ; you cannot 

speak. 
This said I at our Saviour's feast 
After confession, to the priest, 
And even he made no reply. 
Does he not warn us all to seek 460 
The happier, better land on high, 
Where flowers immortal uever wither ; 
And could he forbid me to go thither ? 

GOTTLIEB. 

In God's own time, my heart's de- 
light ! 
When He shall call thee, not before! 



ELSIE. 

I heard Him call. When Christ as- 
cended 

Triumphantly, from star to star, 

He left the gates of heaven ajar. 

I had a vision in the night, 

And saw Him standing at the door 47c 

Of his Father's mansion, vast and 
splendid, 

And beckoning to me from afar. 

I cannot stay ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

She speaks almost 
As if it were the Holy Ghost 
Spake through her lips, and in her 

stead! 
What if this were of God ? 



URSULA. 



Gainsay it dare we not. 



Ah, then 



GOTTLIEB. 



Amen! 

Elsie ! the words that thou hast said 

Are strange and new for us to hear, 

And fill our hearts with doubt and 
fear. 4 8o 

Whether it be a dark temptation 

Of the Evil One, or God's inspira- 
tion, 

We in our blindness cannot say. 

We must think upon it, and pray; 

For evil and good it both resembles. 

If it be of God, his will be done ! 

May He guard us from the Evil 
One! 

How hot thy hand is! how it trem 
bles! 

Go to thy bed, and try to sleep. 

URSULA. 

Kiss me. Good night; and do not 
weep ! 49c 

elsie goes out. 
Ah, what an awful thing is this ! 
I almost shuddered at her kiss, 
As if a ghost had touched my cheek, 
I am so childish and so weak ! 
As soon as I see the earliest gray 
Of morning glimmer in the east, 
I will go over to the priest, 
And hear what the good man has to 
say ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



553 



A VILLAGE CHURCH 

A woman kneeling at the confessional. 

the parish priest, from within. 
Go, sin no more ! Thy penance o'er, 
A new and better life begin ! 500 

God maketh thee forever free 
From the dominion of thy sin ! 
Go, sin no more ! He will restore 
The peace that filled thy heart before, 
And pardon thine iniquity ! 
The-woman goes out. The Priest comes 

forth, and walks slowly up and down 

the church. 

blessed Lord ! how much I need 
Thy light to guide me on my way ! 
So many hands, that, without heed, 
Still touch thy wounds, and make 

them bleed ! 
So many feet, that, day by day, 510 
Still wander from thy fold astray ! 
Unless thou fill me with thy light, 

1 cannot lead thy flock aright ; 
Nor, without thy support, can bear 
The burden of so great a care, 

But am myself a castaway! 

A pause. 
The day is drawing to its close ; 
And what good deeds, since first it 

rose, 
Have I presented, Lord, to thee, 
As offerings of my ministry ? 520 

What wrong repressed, what right 

maintained, 
What struggle passed, what victory 

gained, 
What good attempted and attained ? 
Feeble, at best, is my endeavor! 
I see, but cannot reach, the height 
That lies forever in the light, 
And yet forever and forever, 
When seeming just within my grasp, 
I feel my feeble hands unclasp, 
And sink discouraged into night ! 530 
For thine own purpose, thou hast sent 
The strife and the discouragement ! 

A pause. 

Why stayest thou, Prince of Hohe- 

neck ? 
Why keep me pacing to and fro 
Amid these aisles of sacred gloom, 
Counting my footsteps as I go, 
And marking with each step a tomb ? 



Why should the world for thee make 

room, 
And wait thy leisure and thy beck? 
Thou comest in the hope to hear 54 o 
Some word of comfort and of cheer. 
What can I say ? I cannot give 
The counsel to do this and live ; 
But rather, firmly to deny 
The tempter, though his power be 

strong, 
And, inaccessible to wrong, 
Still like a martyr live and die! 

A pause. 

The evening air grows dusk and 

brown ; 
I must go forth into the town, 
To visit beds of pain and death, 550 
Of restless limbs, and quivering 

breath, 
And sorrowing hearts, and patient 

eyes 
That see, through tears, the sun go 

down, 
But never more shall see it rise. 
The poor in body and estate, 
The sick and the disconsolate, 
Must not on man's convenience wait. 
out. 



Enter Lucifer, as a Priest. 

ltjcifer, with a genuflexion, mocking 

This is the Black Pater-noster. 

God was my foster, 

He fostered me 560 

Under the book of the Palm-tree ! 

St. Michael was my dame. 

He was born at Bethlehem, 

He was made of flesh and blood. 

God sent me my right food, 

My right food, and shelter too, 

That I may to yon kirk go, 

To read upon yon sweet book 

Which the mighty God of heaven 

shook. 
Open, open, hell's gates! 570 

Shut, shut, heaven's gates! 
All the devils in the air 
The stronger be, that hear the Black 

Prayer ! 

Looking round the church. 

What a darksome and dismal place i 
I wonder that any man has the face 



554 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



To call such a hole the House of the 
Lord, 

And the Gate of Heaven, — yet such 
is the word. 

Ceiling, and walls, and windows old, 

Covered with cobwebs, blackened with 
mould ; 

Dust on the pulpit, dust on the stairs, 

Dust on the benches, and stalls, and 
chairs ! 581 

The pulpit, from which such ponder- 
ous sermons 

Have fallen down on the brains of the 
Germans, 

With about as much real edification 

As if a great Bible, bound in lead, 

Had fallen, and struck them on the 
head ; 

And I ought to remember that sensa- 
tion ! 

Here stands the holy-water stoup ! 

Holy -water it may be to many, 

But to me, the veriest Liquor Gehen- 
nas ! 590 

It smells like a filthy fast-day soup ! 

Near it stands the box for the poor, 

With its iron padlock, safe and sure. 

I and the priest of the parish know 

Whither all these charities go ; 

Therefore to keep up the institu- 
tion, 

I will add my little contribution . 

He puts in money. 

Underneath this mouldering tomb, 
With statue of stone, and scutcheon of 

brass, 
Slumbers a great lord of the village. 
All his life was riot and pillage, 601 
But at length, to escape the threatened 

doom 
Of the everlasting penal fire, 
He died in the dress of a mendicant 

friar, 
And bartered his wealth for a daily 

mass. 
But all that afterwards came to pass, 
And whether he finds it dull or plea- 
sant, 
Is kept a secret for the present, 
At his own particular desire. 
And here, in a corner of the wall, 610 
Shadowy, silent, apart from all, 
With its awful portal open wide, 
And its latticed windows on either 
side, 



And its step well worn by the bended 

knees 
Of one or two pious centuries, 
Stands the village confessional ! 
Within it, as an honored guest, 
I will sit down awhile and rest ! 



Seats 



in the confessional. 



Here sits the priest; and faint and 
low, 6l9 

Like the sighing of an evening breeze, 
Comes through these painted lattices 
The ceaseless sound of human woe ; 
Here, while her bosom aches and 

throbs 
With deep and agonizing sobs, 
That half are passion, half contri- 
tion, 
The luckless daughter of perdition 
Slowly confesses her secret shame ! 
The time, the place, the lover's name ! 
Here the grim murderer, with a groan, 
From his bruised conscience rolls the 
stone, 630 

Thinking that thus he can atone 
For ravages of sword and flame ! 

Indeed, I marvel, and marvel greatly, 
How a priest can sit here so sedately, 
Reading, the whole year out and in, 
Naught but the catalogue of sin, 
And still keep any faith whatever 
In human virtue ! Never ! never! 

I cannot repeat a thousandth part 
Of the horrors and crimes and sins and 

woes 640 

That arise, when with palpitating 

throes 
The graveyard in the human heart 
Gives up its dead, at the voice of the 

priest, 
As if he were an archangel, at least. 
It makes a peculiar atmosphere, 
This odor of earthly passions and 

crimes, 
Such as I like to breathe, at times, 
And such as often brings me here 
In the hottest and most pestilential 

season. 
To-day, I come for another reason ; 650 
To foster and ripen an evil thought 
In a heart that is almost to madness 

wrought, 
And to make a murderer out of a 

prince, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



555 




" Therefore, to keep up the institution, 
I will add my little contribution " 



A sleight of hand I learned long since ! 
He comes. In the twilight he will 

not see 
The difference between his priest and 

me! 
In the same net was the mother 

caught ! 

prince henry, entering and kneeling 

at the confessional. 
Remorseful, penitent, and lowly, 
I come to crave, O Father holy, 
Thy benediction on my head. 660 

LUCIFER. 

The benediction shall be said 
After confession, not before! 
'T is a God-speed to the parting guest, 
Who stands already at the door, 
Sandalled with holiness, and dressed 
In garments pure from earthly stain. 
Meanwhile, hast thou searched well 

thy breast ? 
Does the same madness fill thy brain? 
Or have thy passion and unrest 
Vanished forever from thy mind ? 670 



PRINCE HENRY. 

By the same madness still made blind, 
By the same passion still possessed, 
I come again to the house of prayer, 
A man afflicted and distressed ! 
As in a cloudy atmosphere, 
Through unseen sluices of the air, 
A sudden and impetuous wind 
Strikes the great forest white with 

fear, 

And every branch, and bough, and 

spray 6 79 

Points all its quivering leaves one way, 

And meadows of grass, and fields of 

grain, 
And the clouds above, and the slant- 
ing rain, 
And smoke from chimneys of the 

town, 
Yield themselves to it, and bow down, 
So does this dreadful purpose press 
Onward, with irresistible stress, 
And all my thoughts and faculties, 
Struck level by the strength of this, 
From their true inclination turn, 
And all stream forward to Salern ! 690 



556 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



LUCIFER. 

Alas ! we are but eddies of dust, 
Uplifted by the blast, and whirled 
Along the highway of the world 
A moment only, then to fall 
Back to a common level all, 
At the subsiding of the gust ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

O holy Father ! pardon in me 
The oscillation of a mind 
Unsteadfast, and that cannot find 
Its centre of rest and harmony ! 700 
For evermore before mine eyes 
This ghastly phantom flits and flies, 
And as a madman through a crowd, 
With frantic gestures and wild cries, 
It hurries onward, and aloud 
Repeats its awful prophecies ! 
Weakness is wretchedness! To be 

strong 
Is to be happy! I am weak, 
And cannot find the good I seek, 
Because I feel and fear the wrong ! 710 

LUCIFER. 

Be not alarmed ! The Church is kind, 
And in her mercy and her meekness 
She meets half-way her children's 

weakness, 
Writes their transgressions in the dust ! 
Though in the Decalogue we find 
The mandate written, "Thou shalt not 

kill ! " 
Yet there are cases when we must. 
In war, for instance, or from scathe 
To guard and keep the one true Faith 
We must look at the Decalogue in the 

light 720 

Of an ancient statute, that was meant 
For a mild and general application, 
To be understood with the reservation 
That in certain instances the Right 
Must yield to the Expedient! 
Thou art a Prince. If. thou shouldst 

die, 
What hearts and hopes would prostrate 

lie! 
What noble deeds, what fair renown, 
Into the grave with thee go down ! 
What acts of valor and courtesy 730 
Remain undone, and die with thee ! 
Thou art the last of all thy race ! 
With thee a noble name expires, 
And vanishes from the earth's face 
The glorious memory of thy sires ! 



She is a peasant. In her veins 
Flows common and plebeian blood ; 
It is such as daily and hourly stains 
The dust and the turf of battle plains, 
By vassals shed, in a crimson flood, 740 
Without reserve, and without reward, 
At the slightest summons of their lord ! 
But thine is precious; the fore-ap- 
pointed 
Blood of kings, of God's anointed ! 
Moreover, what has the world in store 
For one like her, but tears and toil? 
Daughter of sorrow, serf of the soil, 
A peasant's child and a peasant's wife, 
And her soul within her sick and sore 
With the roughness and barrenness of 
life ! 750 

I marvel not at the heart's recoil 
From a fate like this, in one so tender, 
Nor at its eagerness to surrender 
All the wretchedness, want, and woe 
That await it in this world below, 
Nor the unutterable splendor 
Of the world of rest beyond the skies. 
So the Church sanctions the sacrifice: 
Therefore inhale this healing balm, 
And breathe this fresh life into thine ; 
Accept the comfort and the calm 761 
She offers, as a gift divine ; 
Let her fall down and anoint thy feet 
With the ointment costly and most 

sweet 
Of her young blood, and thou shalt 
live. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

And will the righteous Heaven for- 
give ? 
No action, whether foul or fair, 
Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere 
A record, written by fingers ghostly, 
As a blessing or a curse, and mostly 770 
In the greater weakness or greater 

strength 
Of the acts which follow it, till at 

length 
The wrongs of ages are redressed, 
And the justice of God made manifest ! 

LUCIFER. 

In ancient records it is stated 

That, whenever an evil deed is done. 

Another devil is created 

To scourge and torment the offending 

one! 
But evil is only good perverted, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



557 



And Lucifer, the bearer of Light, 780 
But an angel fallen and deserted, 
Thrust from his Father's house with 

a curse 
Into the black and endless night. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

If justice rules the universe, 
From the good actions of good men 
Angels of light should be begotten, 
And thus the balance restored again. 

LUCIFER. 

Yes ; if the world were not so rotten, 
And so given over to the Devil ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

But this deed, is it good or evil ? 790 

Have I thine absolution free 

To do it, and without restriction 1 

LUCIFER. 

Ay ; and from whatsoever sin 
Lieth around it and within, 
From all crimes in which it may in- 
volve thee, 
I now release thee and absolve thee ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Give me thy holy benediction. 



lucifer, stretching forth his hand and 
muttering. 
Maledictione perpetua 
Maledicat vos 
Pater eternus ! 800 

the angel, with the JEJolian harp. 
Take heed ! take heed ! 
Noble art thou in thy birth, 
By the good and the great of earth 
Hast thou been taught! 
Be noble in every thought 
And in every deed ! 
Let not the illusion of thy senses 
Betray thee to deadly offences. 
Be strong ! be good ! be pure ! 
The right only shall endure, 810 

All things else are but false pretences. 
I entreat thee, I implore, 
Listen no more 

To the suggestions of an evil spirit, 
That even now is there, 
Making the foul seem fair, 
And selfishness itself a virtue and a 
merit ! 

A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE 

GOTTLIEB. 

It is decided ! For many days, 
And nights as many, we have had 




Give me thy holy benedictiou 



558 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



A nameless terror in our breast, 820 
Making us timid, and afraid 
Of God, and his mysterious ways ! 
We have been sorrowful and sad ; 
Much have we suffered, much have 

prayed 
That he would lead us as is best, 
And show us what his will required. 
It is decided ;" and we give 
Our child, O Prince, that you may live ! 



It is of God. 
This 



URSULA. 

He has inspired 



purpose in her ; and through 
pain, 830 

Out of a world of sin and woe, 
He takes her to Himself again. 
The mother's heart resists no longer ; 
With the Angel of the Lord in vain 
It wrestled, for he was the stronger. 

GOTTLIEB. 

As Abraham offered long ago 
His son unto the Lord, and even 
The Everlasting Father in heaven 
Gave his, as a lamb unto the slaughter, 
So do I offer up my daughter ! 840 

Ursula hides her face. 

ELSIE. 

My life is little, 
Only a cup of water, 
But pure and limpid. 
Take it, O my Prince ! 
Let it refresh you, 
Let it restore you. 
It is given willingly, 
It is given freely ; 
May God bless the gift ! 



PRINCE HENRY. 

And the giver ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

Amen ! 

PRINCE HENRY 

I accept it ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

Where are the children ? 

URSULA. 

They are already asleep. 

GOTTLIEB. 

What if they were dead ? 



850 



IN THE GARDEN 

ELSIE. 

I have one thing to ask of you. 



What is it ? 



PRINCE HENRY. 

It is already granted. 

ELSIE. 

Promise me, 
When we are gone from here, and on 

our way 
Are journeying to Salerno, you will 

not, 
By word or deed, endeavor to dissuade 

me 860 

And turn me from my purpose ; but 

remember 
That as a pilgrim to the Holy City 
Walks unmolested, and with thoughts 

of pardon 
Occupied wholly, so would I ap- 
proach 
The gates of Heaven, in this great 

jubilee, 
With my petition, putting off from 

me 
All thoughts of earth, as shoes from 

off my feet. 
Promise me this. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Thy words fall from thy lips 
Like roses from the lips of Angelo: 
and angels 869 

Might stoop to pick them up ! 

ELSIE. 

Will you not promise ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

If ever we depart upon this journey, 
So long to one or both of us, I pro- 
mise. 

ELSIE. 

Shall we not go, then? Have you 
lifted me 

Into the air, only to hurl me back 

Wounded upon the ground? and of- 
fered me 

The waters of eternal life, to bid 
me 

Drink the polluted puddles of this 
world ? 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



559 



PRINCE HENRY. 

Elsie ! what a lesson thou dost teach 
me! 

The life which is, and that which is to 
come, 

Suspended hang in such nice equi- 
poise 880 

A breath disturbs the balance; and 
that scale 

In which we throw our hearts prepon- 
derates, 

And the other, like an empty one, flies 
up, 

And is accounted vanity and air ! 

To me the thought of death is ter- 
rible, 

Having such hold on life. To thee 
it is not 

So much even as the lifting of a 
latch ; 

Only a step into the open air 

Out of a tent already luminous 

With light that shines through its 
transparent walls ! 890 

O pure in heart ! from thy sweet 
dust shall grow 

Lilies, upon whose petals will be 
written 

"Ave Maria" in characters of 
gold! 



Ill 

A STREET IN STRASBURG 

Night. Prince Henry wandering 
alone, wrapped in a cloak. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Still is the night. The sound of feet 
Has died away from the empty street, 
And like an artisan, bending down 
His head on his anvil, the dark town 




" I alone, 
Wander and weep in my remorse 



S 6 ° 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Sleeps, with a slumber deep and 

sweet. 
Sleepless and restless, I alone, 
In the dusk and damp of these walls 

of stone, 
Wander and weep in my remorse ! 

crier op the dead, ringing a bell. 
Wake ! wake ! 

All ye that sleep ! 10 

Pray for the Dead ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Hark ! with what accents loud and 

hoarse 
This warder on the walls of death 
Sends forth the challenge of his 

breath ! 
I see the dead that sleep in the 

grave ! 
They rise up and their garments wave, 
Dimly and spectral, as they rise, 
With the light of another world in 

their eyes ! 

CRIER OP THE DEAD. 

Wake ! wake ! 20 

All ye that sleep ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Why for the dead, who are at rest ? 
Pray for the living, in whose breast 
The struggle between right and wrong 
Is raging terri-ble and strong, 
As when good angels war with devils ! 
This is the Master of the Revels, 
Who, at Life's flowing feast, pro- 
poses 30 
The health of absent friends, and 

pledges, 
Not in bright goblets crowned with 

roses, 
And tinkling as we touch their edges, 
But with his dismal, tinkling bell, 
That mocks and mimics their funeral 
knell ! 

CRIER OF THE DEAD. 

Wake ! wake ! 
All ye that sleep ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 



PRINCE HENRY. 

Wake not, beloved ! be thy sleep 40 
Silent as night is, and as deep ! 
There walks a sentinel at thy gate 
Whose heart is heavy and desolate, 
And the heavings of whose bosom 

number, 
The respirations of thy slumber, 
As if some strange, mysterious fate 
Had linked two hearts in one, and 

mine 
Went madly wheeling about thine, 
Only with wider and wilder sweep ! 

crier op the dead, at a distance. 
Wake ! wake ! 50 

All ye that sleep ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Lo ! with what depth of blackness 

thrown 
Against the clouds, far up the skies 
The walls of the cathedral rise, 
Like a mysterious grove of stone, 
With fitful lights and shadows blend- 
ing, 
As from behind, the moon, ascending, 
Lights its dim aisles and paths un- 
known ! 
The wind is rising ; but the boughs 
Rise not and fall not with the wind, 
That through their foliage sobs and 

soughs ; 
Only the cloudy rack behind, 
Drifting onward, wild and ragged, 
Gives to each spire and buttress 

jagged 
A seeming motion undefined. 
Below on the square, an armed 

knight, 
Still as a statue and as white, 
Sits on his steed, and the moonbeams 
quiver 70 

Upon the points of his armor bright 
As on the ripples of a river. 
He lifts the visor from his cheek, 
And beckons, and makes as he would 
speak. 

Walter the Minnesinger. 
Friend ! can you tell me where alight 
Thuringia's horsemen for the night ? 
For I have lingered in the rear, 
And wander vainly up and down. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



56 



PRINCE HENRY. 

I am a stranger in the town, 
As thou art ; but the voice I hear 80 
Is not a stranger to mine ear. 
Thou art Walter of the Vogelweid ! 

WALTER. 

Thou hast guessed rightly; and thy 

name 
Is Henry of Hoheneck ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Ay, the same. 
Walter, embracing him. 

Come closer, closer to my side ! 

What brings thee hither ? What po- 
tent charm 

Has drawn thee from thy German 
farm 

Into the old Alsatian city ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

A tale of wonder and of pity I 

A wretched man, almost by stealth 90 

Dragging my body to Salern, 

In the vain hope and search for health, 

And destined never to return. 

Already thou hast heard the rest. 

But what brings thee, thus armed and 

dight 
In the equipments of a knight ? 

WALTER. 

Dost thou not see upon my breast 
The cross of the Crusaders shine ? 
My pathway leads to Palestine. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Ah, would that way were also mine ! 100 

noble poet ! thou whose heart 
Is like a nest of singing-birds 
Rocked on the topmost bough of life, 
Wilt tnou, too, from our sky depart. 
And in the clangor of the strife 
Mingle the music of thy words? 

WALTER. 

My hopes are high, my heart is proud, 
And like a trumpet long and loud, 
Thither my thoughts all clang and 

ring ! 
My life is in my hand, and lo ! no 

1 grasp and bend it as a bow, 

And shoot forth from its trembling 
string 



An arrow, that shall be, perchance, 
Like the arrow of the Israelite king 
Shot from the window toward the 

east, 
That of the Lord's deliverance ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

My life, alas ! is what thou seest ! 
O enviable fate ! to be 
Strong, beautiful, and armed like thee 
With lyre and sword, with song and 

steel ; 120 

A hand to smite, a heart to feel ! 
Thy heart, thy hand, thy lyre, thy 

sword, 
Thou givest all unto thy Lord ; 
While I, so mean and abject grown, 
Am thinking of myself alone. 



Be patient : Time will reinstate 
Thy health and fortunes. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

'T is too late ! 
I cannot strive against my fate ! 

WALTER. 

Come with me ; for my steed is weary ; 
Our journey has been long and 
dreary, 130 

And, dreaming of his stall, he dints 
With his impatient hoofs the flints. 



PRINCE HENRY, 

I am ashamed in my disgrace, 
To look into that noble face ! 
To-morrow, Walter, let it be. 

WALTER. 

To-morrow, at the dawn of day, 
I shall again be on my way. 
Come with me to the hostelry, 
For I have many things to say. 
Our journey into Italy 140 

Perchance together we may make ; 
Wilt thou not do it for my sake ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

A sick man's pace would but impede 
Thine eager and impatient speed. 
Besides, my pathway leads me round 
To Hirschau, in the forest's bound, 
Where I assemble man and steed, 
And all things for my journey's need 
They go out. 



562 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



lucifer, flying over the city. 
Sleep, sleep, O city ! till the light 
Wake you to sin and crime again, 150 
Whilst on your dreams, like dismal 

rain, 
I scatter downward through the night 
My maledictions dark and deep. 
I have more martyrs in your walls 
Than God has ; and they cannot sleep ; 
They are my bondsmen and my thralls ; 
Their wretched lives are full of pain, 
Wild agonies of nerve and brain ; 
And every heart-beat, every breath, 
Is a convulsion worse than death ! 160 
Sleep, sleep, O city ! though within 
The circuit of your walls there be 
No habitation free from sin, 
And all its nameless misery ; 
The aching heart, the aching head, 
Grief for the living and the dead, 
And foul corruption of the time, 
Disease, distress, and want, and woe, 
And crimes, and passions that may 

grow 
Until they ripen into crime ! 170 



SQUARE IN FRONT OF THE CATHE- 
DRAL 

Easter Sunday. Friar Cuthbeist 
preaching to the crowd from a pulpit 
in the open air. Prince Henry and 
Elsie crossing the square. 

PRINCE henry. 
This is the day, when from the dead 
Our Lord arose ; and everywhere, 
Out of their darkness and despair, 
Triumphant over fears and foes, 
The hearts of his disciples rose 
When to the women, standing near, 
The Angel in shining vesture said, 
" The Lord is risen ; he is not here ! " 
And, mindful that the day is come , 
On all the hearths in Christendom 180 
The fires are quenched, to be again 
Rekindled from the sun, that high 
Is dancing in the cloudless sky. 
The churches are all decked with 

flowers, 
The salutations among men 
Are but the Angel's words divine, 
" Christ is arisen! " and the bells 
Catch the glad murmur, as it swells, 
And chant together in their towers. 



All hearts are glad; and free from 
care r go 

The faces of the people shine. 
See what a crowd is in the square. 
Gayly and gallantly arrayed ! 

ELSIE. 

Let us go back ; I am afraid ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Nay, let us mount the church-steps 

here, 
Under the doorway's sacred shadow ; 
We can see all things, and be freer 
From the crowd that madly heaves 

and presses ! 

ELSIE. 

What a gay pageant ! what bright 

dresses ! 
It looks like a flower - besprinkled 

meadow. 200 

What is that yonder on the square ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

A pulpit in the open air, 

And a Friar, who is preaching to the 

crowd 
In a voice so deep and clear and loud, 
That, if we listen, and give heed, 
His lowest words will reach the ear. 

friar cuthbert, gesticulating and 

cracking a postilion's whip. 
What ho ! good people ! do you not 

hear? 
Dashing along at the top of his speed, 
Booted and spurred, on his jaded steed, 
A courier comes with words of 

cheer. 210 

Courier ! what is the news, I pray? 
' ' Christ is arisen ! " Whence come 

you ? " From court." 
Then I do not believe it ; you say it in 

sport. 
Cracks his whip again. 
Ah, here comes another, riding this 

way; 
We soon shall know what he has to 

say. 
Courier ! what are the tidings to-day ? 
"Christ is arisen!" Whence come 

you? "From town." 
Then I do not believe it ; away with 

you, clown. 
Cracks his whip more violently. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



563 




" Christ is arisen ! 



And here comes a third, who is spur- 
ring amain ; 

What news do you bring, with your 
loose-hanging rein, 220 

Your spurs wet with blood, and your 
bridle with foam? 

"Christ is arisen!" .Whence come 
you? "From Rome." 

Ah, now I believe. He is risen, in- 
deed. 

Ride on with the news, at the top of 
your speed ! 

Great applause among the crowd. 

To come back to my text ! When the 

news was first spread 
That Christ was arisen indeed from the 

dead, 
Very great was the joy of the angels 

in heaven ; 
And as great the dispute as to who 

should carry 
The tidings thereof to the Virgin Mary, 
Pierced to the heart with sorrows 

seven. 230 

Old Father Adam was first to pro- 



As being the author of all our woes ; 

But he was refused, for fear, said they, 

He would stop to eat apples on the 
way ! 

Abel came next, but petitioned in vain, 

Because he might meet with his 
brother Cain ! 

Noah, too, was refused, lest his weak- 
ness for wine 

Should delay him at every tavern-sign ; 



And John the Baptist could not get a 

vote, 
On account of his old-fashioned camel's 

hair coat ; 240 

And the Penitent Thief, who died on 

the cross, 
Was reminded that all his bones were 

broken ! 
Till at last, when each in turn had 

spoken, 
The company being still at loss, 
The Angel, who rolled away the stone, 
Was sent to the sepulchre, all alone. 
And filled with glory that gloomy 

prison. 
And said to the Virgin, " The Lord is 

arisen ! " 

The Cathedral bells ring. 
But hark ! the bells are beginning to 

chime ; 249 

And I feel that I am growing hoarse. 
I will put an end to my discourse, 
And leave the rest for some other time. 
For the bells themselves are the best 

of preachers ; 
Their brazen lips are learned teachers, 
From their pulpits of stone, in the 

upper air, 
Sounding aloft, without crack or flaw, 
Shriller than trumpets under the Law, 
Now a sermon, and now a prayer. 
The clangorous hammer is the tongue, 
This way, that way, beaten and swung, 
That from mouth of brass, as from 

Mouth of Gold, 261 

May be taught the Testaments, New 

and Old. 



5 6 4 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



And above it the great cross-beam of 
wood 

Represented the Holy Rood, 

Upon which, like the bell, our hopes 
are hung. 

And the wheel wherewith it is swayed 
and rung 

Is the mind of man, that round and 
round 

Sways, and maketh the tongue to 
sound ! 

And the rope, with its twisted cord- 
age three, 

Denoteth the Scriptural Trinity 270 

Of Morals, and Symbols, and His- 
tory ; 

And the upward and downward mo- 
tion show 

That we touch upon matters high and 
low ; 

And the constant change and transmu- 
tation 

Of action and of contemplation, 

Downward, the Scripture brought 
from on high, 

Upward, exalted again to the sky ; 

Downward, the literal interpretation, 

Upward, the Vision and Mystery ! 

And now, my hearers, to make an 
end, 280 

I have only one word more to say ; 

In the church, in honor of Easter day 

Y/ill be presented a Miracle Play ; 

And I hope you will all have the grace 
to attend. 

Christ bring us at last to his felicity ! 

Pax vobiscum ! et Benedicite ! 

IN THE CATHEDRAL 
CHANT. 

Kyrie Eleison ! 
Christe Eleison ! 

ELSIE. 

I am at home here in my Father's 

house ! 
These paintings of the Saints upon the 

walls 290 

Have all familiar and benignant faces. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

The portraits of the family of God ! 
Thine own hereafter shall be placed 
among them. 



ELSIE. 

How very grand it is and wonderful! 

Never have I beheld a church so splen- 
did ! 

Such columns, and such arches, and 
such windows, 

So many tombs and statues in the 
chapels, 

And under them so many confession- 
als. 

They must be for the rich. I should 
not like 

To tell my sins in such a church as 
this. 300 

Who built it ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

A great master of his craft, 

Erwin von Steinbach ; but not he 
alone, 

For many generations labored with 
him. 

Children that came to see these Saints 
in stone, 

As day by day out of the blocks they 
rose, 

Grew old and died, and still the work 
went on, 

And on, and on, and is not yet com- 
pleted. 

The generation that succeeds our own 

Perhaps may finish it. The architect 

Built his great heart into these sculp- 
tured stones, 310 

And with him toiled his children, and 
their lives 

Were builded, with his own, into the 
walls, 

As offerings unto God. You see that 
statue 

Fixing its joyous, but deep-wrinkled 
eyes 

Upon the Pillars of the Angels yonder. 

That is the image of the master, carved 

By the fair hand of his own child, 
Sabina. 

ELSIE. 

How beautiful is the column that he 
looks at! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

That, too, she sculptured. At the 

base of it 
Stand the Evangelists ; above their 

heads 320 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



56S 



Four Angels blowing upon marble 
trumpets, 

And over them the blessed Christ, sur- 
rounded 

By his attendant ministers, upholding 

The instruments of his passion. 

ELSIE. 

O my Lord ! 
Would I could leave behind me upon 

earth 
Some monument to thy glory, such as 

this! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

A greater monument than this thou 
leavest 

In thine own life, all purity and love ! 

See, too, the Rose, above the western 
portal 

Resplendent with a thousand gorgeous 
colors, 330 

The perfect flower of Gothic loveli- 
ness! 

ELSIE. 

And, in the gallery, the long line of 
statues, 

Christ with his twelve Apostles watch- 
ing us ! 

A Bishop in armor, booted and 
spurred, passes with Ids train. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

But come away ; we have not time to 
look. 

The crowd already fills the church, 
and yonder 

Upon a stage, a herald with a trum- 
pet, 

Clad like the Angel Gabriel, proclaims 

The Mystery that will now be repre- 
sented. 



THE NATIVITY 

A MIRACLE-PLAY 
INTROITUS 

PR^ECO. 

Come, good people, all and each, 
Come and listen to our speech ! 340 
In your presence here I stand, 
With a trumpet in my hand, 



To announce the Easter Play, 
Which we represent to-day ! 
First of all we shall rehearse, 
In our action and our verse, 
The Nativity of our Lord, 
As written in the old record 
Of the Protevangelion, 
So that he who reads may run ! 350 
Blows his trumpet. 

I. HEAVEN. 

mercy, at the feet of God. 
Have pity, Lord ! be not afraid 
To save mankind, whom thou hast 

made, 
Nor let the souls that were betrayed 
Perish eternally ! 

JUSTICE. 

It cannot be, it must not be ! 
When in the garden placed by thee, 
The fruit of the forbidden tree 
He ate, and he must die ! 

MERCY. 

Have pity, Lord ! let penitence 
Atone for disobedience, 360 

Nor let the fruit of man's offence 
Be endless misery ! 

JUSTICE. 

What penitence proportionate 
Can e'er be felt for sin so great ? 
Of the forbidden fruit he ate, 
And damned must he be ! 



He shall be saved, if that within 
The bounds of earth one free from sin 
Be found, who for his kith and kin 
Will suffer martyrdom. 370 

THE FOUR VIRTUES. 

Lord ! we have searched the world 

around, 
From centre to the utmost bound, 
But no such mortal can be found ; 
Despairing, back we come. 

WISDOM. 

No mortal, but a God made man, 
Can ever carry out this plan, 
Achieving what none other can, 
Salvation unto all ! 



566 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



GOD. 

Go, then, O my beloved Son! 

It can by thee alone be done ; 380 

By thee the victory shall be won 

O'er Satan and the Fall ! 
Here the Angel Gabriel shall leave 

Paradise and fly towards the earth ; 

the jaws of Hell open below, and the 

Devils walk about, making a great 

noise. 



II. MARY AT THE WELL 
MARY. 

Along the garden walk, and thence 
Through the wicket in the garden 
fence, 

I steal with quiet pace, 
My pitcher at the well to fill, 
That lies so deep and cool and still 

In this sequestered place. 

These sycamores keep guard around ; 
I see no face, I hear no sound, 39 o 

Save bubblings of the spring, 
And my companions, who, within, 
The threads of gold and scarlet spin, 

And at their labor sing. 

THE ANGEL GABRIEL. 

Hail, Virgin Mary, full of grace ! 
Here Mary looketh around her, trem- 
bling, and then saith : 

MARY. 

Who is it speaketh in this place, 
With such a gentle voice? 

GABRIEL. 

The Lord of heaven is with thee now ! 
Blessed among all women thou, 
Who art his holy choice ! 4°° 

mary, setting down the -pitcher. 
What can this mean? No one is near, 
And yet, such sacred words I hear, 
I almost fear to stay. 

Here the Angel, appearing to her, shall 
say: 

GABRIEL. 

Fear not, O Mary ! but believe! 
For thou, a Virgin, shalt conceive 
A child this very day. 



Fear not, O Mary ! from the sky 
The majesty of the Most High 
Shall overshadow thee ! 

MARY. 

Behold the handmaid of the Lord ! 410 
According to thy holy word, 

So be it unto me! 
Here the Devils shall again make a 
great noise, under the stage. 



III. THE ANGELS OF THE SEVEN 
PLANETS, BEARING THE STAR 
OF BETHLEHEM 

THE ANGELS. 

The Angels of the Planets Seven, 
Across the shining fie]ds of heaven 

The natal star we bring! 
Dropping our sevenfold virtues down 
As priceless jewels in the crown 

Of Christ, our new-born King. 

RAPHAEL. 

I am the Angel of the Sun, 
Whose flaming wheels began to run 

When God's almighty breath 421 
Said to the darkness and the Night, 
Let there be light ! and there was 
light ! 

I bring the gift of Faith. 

ONAFIEL. 

I am the Angel of the Moon, 
Darkened to be rekindled soon 

Beneath the azure cope ! 
Nearest to earth, it is my ray 
That best illumes the midnight way ; 

I bring the gift of Hope ! 430 

ANAEL. 

The Angel of the Star of Love, 
The Evening Star, that shines above 

The place where lovers be, 
Above all happy hearths and homes, 
On roofs of thatch, or golden domes, 

I give him Charity ! 

ZOBIACHEL. 

The Planet Jupiter is mine! 

The mightiest star of all that shine, 

Except the sun alone ! 
He is the High Priest of the Dove, 440 
And sends, from his great throne 
above, 

Justice, that shall atone ! 




THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



567 




" What can this mean ? No one is near, 
And yet, such sacred words I hear" 



MICHAEL. 

The Planet Mercury, whose place 
Is nearest to the sun in space, 

Is my allotted sphere ! 
And with celestial ardor swift 
I bear upon my hands the gift 

Of heavenly Prudence here ! 

URIEL. 

I am the Minister of Mars, 449 

The strongest star among the stars ! 

My songs of power prelude 
The march and battle of man's life, 
And for the suffering and the strife, 

I give him Fortitude ! 

ORIFEL. 

The Angel of the uttermost 
Of all the shining, heavenly host, 
From the far-off expanse 



Of the Saturnian, endless space 
I bring the last, the crowning grace, 
The gift of Temperance ! 460 

A sudden light shines from the windows 
of the stable in the village below. 



IV. THE WISE MEN OF THE EAST 

The stable of the Inn. The Virgin and 
Child. Three Gypsy Kings, Gas- 
par, Melchior, and Belshazzar, 
shall come in. 

GASPAR. 

Hail to thee, Jesus of Nazareth! 
Though in a manger thou draw 

breath, 
Thou art greater than Life and Death, 
Greater than Joy or Woe 1 



5 68 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



This cross upon the line of life 
Portendeth struggle, toil, and strife, 
And through a region with peril rife 
In darkness shalt thou go ! 

MELCHIOU. 

Hail to thee, King of Jerusalem ! 
Though humbly born in Bethlehem, 
A sceptre and a diadem 47 i 

Await thy brow and hand ! 
The sceptre is a simple reed, 
The crown will make thy temples 

bleed, 
And in thine hour of greatest need, 

Abashed thy subjects stand ! 

BELSHAZZAK. 

Hail to thee, Christ of Christendom ! 
O'er all the earth thy kingdom come ! 
From distant Trebizond to Rome 

Thy name shall men adore! 480 

Peace and good-will among all men, 
The Virgin has returned again, 
Returned the old Saturnian reign 

And Golden Age once more. 

THE CHILD CHRIST. 

Jesus, the Son of God, am I, 
Born here to suffer and to die 
According to the prophecy, 
That other men may live ! 

THE VIRGIN. 

And now these . clothes, that wrapped 

Him, take 
And keep them precious, for his sake ; 
Our benediction thus we make, 491 

Naught else have we to give. 
She gives them swaddling-clothes, and 
they depart. 

V. THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT 

Here Joseph shall come in, leading an 
ass, on which are seated Mary and 
the Child. 

MARY. 

Here will we rest us, under these 
O'erhanging branches of the trees, 
Where robins chant their Litanies 
And canticles of joy. 

JOSEPH. 

My saddle-girths have given way 
With trudging through the heat to- 
day ; 



To you I think it is but play 
To ride and hold the boy. 500 

MARY. 

Hark! how the robins shout and sing, 
As if to hail their infant King ! 
I will alight at yonder spring 
To wash his little coat. 

JOSEPH. 

And I will hobble well the ass, 
Lest, being loose upon the grass, 
He should escape ; for, by the mass, 

He's nimble as a goat. 
Here Mary shall alight and go to the 
spring. 

MARY. 

Joseph ! I am much afraid, 

For men are sleeping in the shade ; 510 

1 fear that we shall be waylaid, 
And robbed and beaten sore ! 

Here a band of robbers shall be seen sleep- 
ing, two of whom shall rise and come 
forward. 

DUMACHUS. 

Cock's soul! deliver up your gold! 



I pray you, Sirs, let go your hold! 
You see that I am weak and old, 
Of wealth I have no store. 

DUMACHUS. 

Give up your money ! 

TITUS. 

Prithee cease. 
Let these people go in peace. 

DUMACHUS. 

First let them pay for their release, 
And then go on their way. 520 

TITUS. 

These forty groats I give in fee, 
If thou wilt only silent be. 

MARY. 

May God be merciful to thee 
Upon the Judgment Day ! 

JESUS. 

When thirty years shall have gone b}> 
I at Jerusalem shall die, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



569 



By Jewish hands exalted high 

On the accursed tree, 
Then on my right and my left side, 
These thieves shall both be crucified, 
And Titus thenceforth shall abide 531 

In paradise with me. 
Here a great rumor of trumpets and 

horses, like the noise of a king with 

his army, and the robbers shall take 

flight. 



VI. 



THE SLAUGHTER OF THE IN- 
NOCENTS 



KING HEROD. 

Potz-tausend! Himmel-sacrament ! 
Filled am I with great wonderment 

At this unwelcome news ! 
Am I not Herod ? Who shall dare 
My crown to take, my sceptre bear, 

As king among the Jews ? 
Here he shall stride up and doion and 

flourish his sword. 
What ho ! I fain would drink a can 
Of the strong wine of Canaan ! 540 

The wine of Helbon bring 
I purchased at the Fair of Tyre, 
As red as blood, as hot as fire, 

And fit for any king ! 
He quaffs great goblets of wine. 



Now at the window will I stand, 
While in the street the armed band 

The little children slay ; 
The babe just born in Bethlehem 
Will surely slaughtered be with 
them, 

Nor live another day ! 550 

Here a voice of lamentation shall be 
heard in the street. 

RACHEL. 

O wicked king ! O cruel speed ! 
To do this most unrighteous deed ! 
My children all are slain! 

HEROD. 

Ho seneschal ! another cup ! 
With wine of Sorek fill it up ! 
I would a bumper drain ! 

RAHAB. 

May maledictions fall and blast 
Thyself and lineage, to the last 
Of all thy kith and kin! 

HEROD. 

Another goblet ! quick ! and stir 560 
Pomegranate juice and drops of myrrh 
And calamus therein ! 




And now these clothes, that wrapped Him, take 
And keep them precious, for his sake " 



57° 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



soldiers, in the street. 
Give up thy child into our hands ! 
It is King Herod who commands 
That he should thus be slain ! 

THE NURSE MEDUSA. 

O monstrous men! What have ye 

done ! 
It is King Herod's only son 
That ye have cleft in twain ! 

HEROD. 

Ah, luckless day ! What words of fear 
Are these that smite upon my ear 570 

With such a doleful sound ! 
What torments rack my heart and 

head! 
Would I were dead! would I were 
dead, 

And buried in the ground ! 
He falls down and writhes as though 

eaten by worms. Hell opens, and 

Satan and Astaroth come forth, 

and drag him down. 



VII. JESUS AT PLAY WITH HIS 
SCHOOL-MATES 

JESUS. 

The shower is over. Let us play, 
And make some sparrows out of clay, 
Down by the river's side. 

JUDAS. 

See, how the stream has overflowed 
Its banks, and o'er the meadow road 

Is spreading far and wide! 580 

They draw water out of tlie river by 

channels, and form little pools. Jesus 

makes twelve sparrows of clay, and 

the other boys do the same. 

JESUS. 

Look! look how prettily I make 
These little sparrows by the lake 

Bend down their necks and drink ! 
Now will I make them sing and soar 
So far, they shall return no more 

Unto this river's brink. 

JUDAS. 

That canst thou not! They are but 

clay, 
They cannot sing, nor fly away 
Above the meadow lands ! 



Fly, 



JESUS. 

ye sparrows ! 



fly ! ye sparrows ! you are 
free ! 59 r 

And while you live, remember me, 
Who made you with my hands. 
Here Jesus shall clap his hands, and th 
sparrows shall fly away, chirruping. 



Thou art a sorcerer, I know ; 
Oft has my mother told me so, 

I will not play with thee ! 

He strikes Jesus in the right side. 

JESUS. 

Ah, Judas ! thou hast smote my side, 
And when I shall be crucified, 
There shall I pierced be ! 
Here Joseph shall come in and say : 

JOSEPH. 

Ye wicked boys ! why do ye play, 
And break the holy Sabbath day ? 600 
What, think ye, will your mothers say 

To see you in such plight ! 
In such a sweat and such a heat, 
With all that mud upon your feet ! 
There 's not a beggar in the street 

Makes such a sorry sight ! 

VIII. THE VILLAGE SCHOOL 

TJie Rabbi Ben Israel, sitting on a 
high stool, with a long beard, and 
a rod in his hand. 

RABBI. 

I am the Rabbi Ben Israel, 
Throughout this village known full 

well, 
And, as my scholars all will tell, 

Learned in things divine ; 610 

The Cabala and Talmud hoar 
Than all the prophets prize I more, 
For water is all Bible lore, 

But Mishna is strong wine. 

My fame extends from West to East, 
And always, at the Purim feast, 
I am as drunk as any beast 

That wallows in his sty ; 
The wine it so elateth me, 
That I no difference can see 620 

Between "Accursed Haman be ! " 

And "Blessed be Mordecai ! " 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



57i 



Come hither, Judas Iscariot; 
Say, if thy lesson thou hast got 
From the Rabbinical Book or not. 
Why howl the dogs at night ? 

JUDAS. 

In the Rabbinical Book, it saith 
The dogs howl, when with icy breath 
Great Sammael, the Angel of Death, 
Takes through the town his flight! 



Well, boy ! now say, if thou art wise, 
When the Angel of Death, who is full 
of eyes, 332 

Comes where a sick man dying lies, 
What doth he to the wight ? 

JUDAS. 

He stands beside him, dark and tall, 
Holding a sword, from which doth 

fall 
Into his mouth a drop of gall, 
And so he turneth white. 

KABBI. 

And now, my Judas, say to me 639 
What the great Voices Four may be, 
That quite across the world do flee. 
And are not heard by men ? 

JUDAS. 

The Voice of the Sun in heaven's 

dome, 
The Voice of the Murmuring of 

Rome, 
The Voice of a Soul that goeth home, 
And the Angel of the Rain ! 

RABBI. 

Right are thine answers every one! 
Now little Jesus, the carpenter's son, 
Let us see how thy task is done ; 
Canst thou thy letters say ? 650 

JESUS. 

Aleph. 

RABBI. 

What next ? Do not stop yet ! 
Go on with all the alphabet. 
Come, Aleph, Beth ; dost thou forget ? 
Cock's soul ! thou 'dst rather play ! 



JESUS. 

What Aleph means I 

know, 
Before I any farther go ! 



fain would 



RABBI. 

Oh, by Saint Peter ! wouldst thou so? 

Come hither, boy, to me. 
As surely as the letter Jod 659 

Once cried aloud, and spake to God, 
So surely shalt thou feel this rod, 

And punished shalt thou be ! 

Here Rabbi Ben Israel shall lift up 
his rod to strike Jesus, and his right 
arm shall be paralyzed. 

IX. CROWNED WITH FLOWERS 

Jesus sitting among his playmates 
crowned with flowers as their King. 

BOYS. 

We spread our garments on the 

ground ! 
With fragrant flowers thy head is 

crowned 
While like a guard we stand around, 

And hail thee as our King ! 
Thou art the new King of the Jews ! 
Nor let the passers-by refuse 
To bring that homage which men use 

To majesty to bring. 670 

Here a traveller shall go by, and the 

boys shall lay hold of his garments and 

say: 

BOYS. 

Come hither ! and all reverence pay 
Unto our monarch, crowned to-day 1 
Then go rejoicing on your way, 
In all prosperity 1 

TRAVELLER. 

Hail to the King of Bethlehem, 
Who weareth in his diadem 
The yellow crocus for the gem 

Of his authority ! 
He passes by : and others come in, bear, 
ing on a litter a sick child. 

BOYS. 

Set down the litter and draw near ! 
The King of Bethlehem is here ! 680 
What ails the child, who seems to 
fear 
That we shall do him harm ? 

THE BEARERS. 

He climbed up to the robin's nest, 
And out there darted, from his rest, 



i 



57* 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



A serpent with a crimson crest, 
And stung him in the arm. 



Bring him to me, and let me feel 
The wounded place; my touch can 

heal 
The sting of serpents, and can steal 

The poison from the bite ! 690 

He touches the wound, and the boy be- 
gins to cry. 
Cease to lament ! I can foresee 
That thou hereafter known shalt be, 
Among the men who follow me, 

As Simon the Canaanite ! 

EPILOGUE. 

In the after part of the day 
Will be represented another play, 
Of the Passion, of our BlessM Lord, 
Beginning directly after Nones! 
At the close of which we shall ac- 
cord, 
By way of benison and reward, 700 
The sight of a holy Martyr's bones ! 



IV 

THE ROAD TO HIRSCHAU 

Prince Henry and Elsie, with their 
attendants on horseback. 

ELSIE. 

Onward and onward the highway 
runs to the distant city, impa- 
tiently bearing 

Tidings of human joy and disaster, of 
love and of hate, of doing and 
daring ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

This life of ours is a wild seolian harp 
of many a j oyous strain, 

But under them all there runs a loud 
perpetual wail, as of souls in 
pain. 



Faith alone can interpret life, and the 

heart that aches and bleeds with 

the stigma 
Of pain, alone bears the likeness of 

Christ, and can comprehend its 

dark enigma. 



PRINCE HENRY. 

Man is selfish, and seeketh pleasure 

with little care of what may 

betide, 
Else why am I travelling here beside 

thee, a demon that rides by an 

angel's side ? 



All the hedges are white with dust, 
and the great dog under the 
creaking wain 

Hangs his head in the lazy heat, 
while onward the horses toil 
and strain. 10 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Now they stop at the wayside inn, 
and the wagoner laughs with 
the landlord's daughter, 

While out of the dripping trough the 
horses distend their leathern 
sides with water. 



All through life there are wayside 

inns, where man may refresh 

his soul with love ; 
Even the lowest may quench his thirst 

at rivulets fed by springs from 

above. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Yonder, where rises the cross of stone, 
our journey along the highway 
ends. 

And over the fields, by a bridle path, 
down into the broad green val- 
ley descends. 

ELSIE. 

I am not sorry to leave behind the 

beaten road with its dust and 

heat; 
The air will be sweeter far, and the 

turf will be softer under our 

horses' feet. 
They turn down a green lane. 

ELSIE. 

Sweet is the air with the budding 
haws, and the valley stretching 
for miles below 

Is white with blossoming cherry-trees, 
as if just covered with iightest 
snow. 20 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



573 



PRINCE HENRY. 

Over our heads a white cascade is 
gleaming against the distant hill ; 

We cannot hear it, nor see it move, 
but it hangs like a banner when 
winds are still. 

ELSIE. 

Damp and cool is this deep ravine, 
and cool the sound of the brook 
by our side ! 




What is this- castle that rises above 
us, and lords it over a land so 
wide? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

It is the home of the Counts of Calva; 
well have I known these scenes 
of old, 

Well I remember each tower and tur- 
ret, remember the brooklet, the 
wood, and the wold. 

ELSIE. 

Hark ! from the. little village below us 
the bells of the church are ring- 
ing for rain ! 

Priests and peasants in long procession 
come forth and kneel on the 
arid plain. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

They have not long to wait, for I see 
in the south uprising a little 
cloud, 

That before the sun shall be set will 
cover the sky above us as with 
a shroud. 30 

They pass on. 



THE CONVENT OF HIRSCHAU 
THE BLACK FOREST 



IN 



always enter this sacred place 
Wrth a thoughtful, solemn, and reverent pace 



The Convent cellar. Friar Clatjs 
comes in with a light and a basket of 
empty flagons. 

FRIAR CLAUS. 

I always enter this sacred place 
With a thoughtful, solemn, and rever- 
ent pace, 
Pausing long enough on each stair 
To breathe an ejaculatory prayer, 
And a benediction on the vines 
That produce these various sorts of 

wines! 
For my part, I am well content 
That we have got through with the 

tedious Lent ! 
Fasting is all very well for those 
Who have to contend with invisible 
foes ; • 40 

But I am quite sure it does not 

agree 
With, a quiet, peaceable man like 
me, 



574 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Who am not of that, nervous and 
meagre kind, 

That are always distressed in body 
and mind ! 

And at times it really does me good 

To come down among this brother- 
hood, 

Dwelling forever underground, 

Silent, contemplative, round and 
sound ; 

Each one old, and brown with mould, 

But filled to the lips with the ardor of 
youth, 50 

With the latent power and love of 
truth, 

And with virtues fervent and mani- 
fold. 

I have heard it said, that at Easter-tide 
When buds are swelling on every side, 
And the sap begins to move in the 

vine, 
Then in all cellars, far and wide, 
The oldest as well as the newest wine 
Begins to stir itself, and ferment, 
With a kind of revolt and discontent 
At being so long in darkness pent, 60 
And fain would burst from its sombre 

tun 
To bask on the hillside in the sun ; 
As in the bosom of us poor friars, 
The tumult of half -subdued desires 
For the world that we have left be- 
hind 
Disturbs at times all peace of mind ! 
And now that we have lived through 

Lent, 
My duty it is, as often before, 
To open awhile the prison-door, 
And give these restless spirits vent. 70 

Now here is a cask that stands alone, 
And has stood a hundred years or 

more, 
Its beard of cobwebs, long and hoar, 
Trailing and sweeping along the floor, 
Like Barbarossa, who sits in his cave, 
Taciturn, somber, sedate, and grave, 
Till his beard has grown through the 

table of stone ! 
It is of the quick and not of the dead ! 
In its veins the blood is hot and red, 
And a heart still beats in those ribs of 

oak 80 

That time may have tamed, but has 

not broke ! 



It comes from Bacharach on the Rhine, 
Is one of the three best kinds of wine, 
And costs some hundred florins the 

ohm; 
But that I do not consider dear, 
When I remember that every year ' 
Four butts are sent to the Pope of 

Rome. 
And whenever a goblet thereof I drain, 
The old rhyme keeps running in my 

brain : 

At Bacharach on the Rhine, 90 

At Hochheim on the Main, 
And at Wurzburg on the Stein, 
Grow the three best kinds of wine ! 

They are all good wines, and better far 
Than those of the Neckar, or those of 

the Ahr. 
In particular, Wurzburg well may 

boast 
Of its blessM wine of the Holy Ghost, 
Which of all wines I like the most. 
This I shall draw for the Abbot's drink- 
ing, 
Who seems to be much of my way of 

thinking. 100 

Fills a flagon. 
Ah! how the streamlet laughs and 

sings ! 
What a delicious fragrance springs * 
From the deep flagon, while it fills, 
As of hyacinths and daffodils ! 
Between this cask and the Abbot's lips 
Many have been the sips and slips ; 
Many have been the draughts of wine, 
On their way to his, that have stopped 

at mine ; 
And many a time my soul has hankered 
For a deep draught out of his silver 

tankard, no 

When it should have been busy with 

other affairs, 
Less with its longings and more with 

its prayers. 
But now there is no such awkward 

condition, 
No danger of death and eternal perdi- 
tion ; 
So here 's to the Abbot and Brothers 

all, 
Who dwell in this convent of Peter 

and Paul ! 

He drinks. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



575 



cordial delicious ! O soother of pain ! 
It flashes like sunshine into my brain! 
A benison rest on the Bishop who sends 
Such a f udder of wine as this to his 

friends ! 120 

And now a flagon for such as may ask 
A draught from the noble Bacharach 

cask, 
And I will be gone, though I know 

full well 
The cellar 's a cheerf uller place than 

the cell. 
Behold where he stands, all sound and 

good, 
Brown and old in his oaken hood ; 
Silent he seems externally 
As any Carthusian monk may be ; 
But within, what a spirit of deep un- 
rest! 
What a seething and simmering in his 
breast ! 130 

As if the heaving of his great heart 
Would burst his belt of oak apart ! 
Let me unloose this button of wood, 
And quiet a little his turbulent mood. 

Sets it running. 
See ! how its currents gleam and shine, 
As if they had caught the purple 

hues 
Of autumn sunsets on the Rhine, 
Descending and mingling with the 

dews ; 
Or as if the grapes were stained with 

the blood 
Of the innocent boy, who, some years 
back, 140 

Was taken and crucified by the Jews, 
In that ancient town of Bacharach ; 
Perdition upon those infidel Jews, 
In that ancient town of Bacharach ! 
The beautiful town, that gives us wine 
With the fragrant odor of Musca- 
dine ! 

1 should deem it wrong to let this pass 
Without first touching my lips to the 

glass, 
For here in the midst of the current I 

stand 
Like the stone Pfalz in the midst of 

the river, 150 

Taking toll upon either hand, 
And much more grateful to the giver. 

He drinks. 
Here, now, is a very inferior kind, 
Such as in any town you may find, 



Such as one might imagine would 

suit 
The rascal who drank wine out of a 

boot. 
And, after all, it was not a crime, 
For he won thereby Dorf Huff elsheim. 
A jolly old toper! who at a poll 
Could drink a postilion's jack-boot 

full, 160 

And ask with a laugh, when that was 

done, 
If the fellow had left the other one! 
This wine is as good as we can afford 
To the friars, who sit at the lower 

board, 
And cannot distinguish bad from good, 
And are far better off than if they 

could, 
Being rather the rude disciples of beer 
Than of anything more refined and 

dear! 
Fills the flagon and departs. 



THE SCRIPTORIUM 

Friar Pacificus transcribing and 
illuminating. 

FRIAR PACIFICUS. 

It is growing dark ! Yet one line 
more, 169 

And then my work for to-day is o'er. 
I come again to the name of the Lord ! 
Ere I that awful name record, 
That is spoken so lightly among men, 
Let me pause awhile, and wash my pen; 
Pure from blemish and blot must it be 
When it writes that word of mystery ! 

Thus have I labored on and on, 

Nearly through the Gospel of John. 

Can it be that from the lips 

Of this same gentle Evangelist, 180 

That Christ himself perhaps has kissed, 

Came the dread Apocalypse! 

It has a very awful look, 

As it stands there at the end of the 
book, 

Like the sun in an eclipse. 

Ah me ! when I think of that vision 
divine. 

Think of writing it, line by line, 

I stand in awe of the terrible curse. 

Like the trump of doom, in the clos- 
ing verse ! 



576 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



God forgive me ! if ever I 190 

Take aught from the book of that 

Prophecy, 
Lest my part too should be taken away 
From the Book of Life on the Judg- 
ment Day. 
This is well written, though I say it ! 
I should not be afraid to display it 
In open day, on the selfsame shelf 
With the writings of St. Thecla herself, 
Or of Theodosius, who of old 
Wrote the Gospels in letters of gold ! 
That goodly folio standing yonder, 200 
Without a single blot or blunder, 
Would not bear away the palm from 

mine, 
If we should compare them line for 
line. 

There, now, is an initial letter ! 
Saint Ulric himself never made a 

better ! 
Finished down to the leaf and the 

snail, 
Down to the eyes on the peacock's tail ! 
And now, as I turn the volume over, 
And see what lies between cover and 

cover, 
What treasures of art these pages 

hold, 210 

All ablaze with crimson and gold, 
God forgive me ! I seem to feel 
A certain satisfaction steal 
Into my heart, and into my brain, 
As if my talent had not lain 
Wrapped in a napkin, and all in vain. 
Yes, I might almost say to the Lord, 
Here is a copy of thy Word, 
Written out with much toil and pain ; 
Take it, O Lord, and let it be 220 

As something I have done for thee 1 

He looks from the window. 
How sweet the air is! How fair the 

scene ! 
I wish I had as lovely a green 
To paint my landscapes and my leaves ! 
How the swallows twitter under the 

eaves ! 
There, now, there is one in her nest ; 
I can just catch a glimpse of her head 

and breast, 
And will sketch her thus, in her quiet 

nook, 
From the margin of my Gospel book. 

He makes a sketch. 



I can see no more. Through the valley 
yonder 230 

A shower is passing ; I hear the thun- 
der 
Mutter its curses in the air, 
The devil's own and only prayer 1 
The dusty road is brown with rain, 
And, speeding on with might and 

main, 
Hitherward rides a gallant train. 
They do not parley, they cannot wait, 
But hurry in at the convent gate. 
What a fair lady ! and beside her 
What a handsome, graceful, noble 
rider ! 240 

Now she gives him her hand to 

alight ; 
They will beg a shelter for the night. 
I will go down to the corridor, 
And try to see that face once more ; 
It will do for the face of some beauti- 
ful Saint, 
Or for one of the Maries I shall paint. 
Goes out. 



THE CLOISTERS 

The Abbot Ernestus pacing to and 
fro. 

ABBOT. 

Slowly, slowly up the wall 
Steals the sunshine, steals the shade ; 
Evening damps begin to fall, 
Evening shadows are displayed. 250 
Round me, o'er me, everywhere, 
All the sky is grand with clouds, 
And athwart the evening air 
Wheel the swallows home in crowds. 
Shafts of sunshine from the west 
Paint the dusky windows red ; 
Darker shadows, deeper rest, 
Underneath and overhead. 
Darker, darker, and more wan, 
In my breast the shadows fall ; 260 

Upward steals the life of man, 
As the sunshine from the wall. 
From the wall into the sky. 
From the roof along the spire ; 
Ah, the souls of those that die 
Are but sunbeams lifted higher. 
Enter Prince Henry. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Christ is arisen ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



577 



ABBOT. 

Amen ! He is arisen ! 
His peace be with you ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Here it reigns forever ! 
The peace of God, that passeth under- 
standing, 
Reigns in these cloisters and these cor- 
ridors. 270 
Are you Ernestus, Abbot of the con 
' vent 1 

ABBOT. 

I am. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

And I Prince Henry of Hoheneck, 
Who crave your hospitality to-night. 

ABBOT. 

You are thrice welcome to our humble 
walls. 

You do us honor ; and we shall re- 
quite it, 

I fear, but poorly, entertaining you 

With Paschal eggs, and our poor con- 
vent wine, 

The remnants of our Easter holidays. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

How fares it with the holy monks of 
Hirschau? 279 

Are all things well with them? 

ABBOT. 

All things are well. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

A noble convent ! I have known it 
long 

By the report of travellers. I now see 

Their commendations lag behind the 
truth. 

You lie here in the valley of the 
Nagold 

As in a nest : and the still river, glid- 
ing 

Along its bed, is like an admonition 

How all things pass. Your lands are 
rich and ample, 

And your revenues large. God's bene- 
diction 

Rests on your convent. 

ABBOT. 

By our charities 

We strive to merit it. Our Lord and 

Master, 290 



When He departed, left us in his will, 
As our best legacy on earth, the poor ! 
These we have always with us ; had 

we not, 
Our hearts would grow as hard as are 

these stones. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

If I remember right, the Counts of 

Calva 
Founded your convent. 

ABBOT. 

Even as you say. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

And, if I err not, it is very old. 

ABBOT. 

Within these cloisters lie already 

buried 
Twelve holy Abbots. Underneath the 

flags 
On which we stand, the Abbot William 

lies, 300 

Of blessed memory. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

And whose tomb is that. 
Which bears the brass escutcheon? 

ABBOT. 

A benefactor's. 
Conrad, a Count of Calve, he who 

stood 
Godfather to our bells. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Your monks are learned 
And holy men, I trust. 

ABBOT. 

There are among them 
Learned and holy men. Yet in this 

age. 
We need another Hildebrand, to shake 
And purify us like a mighty wind. 
The world is wicked, and sometimes I 

wonder 
God does not lose his patience with it 

wholly, 310 

And shatter it like glass 1 Even here, 

at times, 
Within these walls, where all should 

be at peace, 
I have my trials. Time has laid his 

hand 



578 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Upon my heart, gently, not smiting 
it, 

But as a harper lays his open palm 

Upon his harp, to deaden its vibra- 
tions. 

Ashes are on my head, and on my 
lips 

Sackcloth, and in my breast a heavi- 
ness 

And weariness of life, that makes me 
ready 

To say to the dead Abbots under 
us, 320 

"Make room for me ! " Only I see the 
dusk 

Of evening twilight coming, and have 
not 

Completed half my task ; and so at 
times 

The thought of my shortcomings in 
this life 

Falls like a shadow on the life to 
come. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

We must all die, and not the old 

alone ; 
The young have no exemption from 

that doom. 

ABBOT. 

Ah, yes ! the young may die, but the 

old must ! 
That is the difference. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

I have heard much laud 
Of your transcribers. Your Scrip- 
torium 330 
Is famous among all; your manu- 
scripts 
Praised for their beauty and their ex- 
cellence. 

ABBOT. 

That is indeed our boast. If you de- 
sire it, 

You shall behold these treasures. And 
meanwhile 

Shall the Refectorarius bestow 

Your horses and attendants for the 
night. 

They go in. The Vesper-bell rings. 



THE CHAPEL 

Vespers ; after which the monks retire, 
a chorister leading an old monk who 
is blind. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

They^re all gone, save one who lin- 
gers, 
Absorbed in deep and silent prayer. 
As if his heart could find no rest, 
At times he beats his heaving breast 340 
With clenched and convulsive fingers, 
Then lifts them trembling in the air. 
A chorister, with golden hair, 
Guides hitherward his heavy pace. 
Can it be so ? Or does my sight 
Deceive me in the uncertain light ? 
Ah no! I recognize that face, 
Though Time has touched it in his 

flight, 
And changed the auburn hair to 

white. 
It is Count Hugo of the Rhine, 350 
The deadliest foe of all our race, 
And hateful unto me and mine ! 

THE BLIND MONK. 

Who is it that doth stand so near 
His whispered words I almost hear? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, 
And you, Count Hugo of the Rhine ! 
I know you, and I see the scar, 
The brand upon your forehead, shine 
And redden like a baleful star ! 

THE BLIND MONK. 

Count Hugo once, but now the 
wreck 360 

Of what I was. O Hoheneck! 
The passionate will, the pride, the 

wrath 
That bore me headlong on my path, 
Stumbled and staggered into fear, 
And failed me in my mad career, 
As a tired steed some evil-doer, 
Alone upon a desolate moor, 
Bewildered, lost, deserted, blind. 
And hearing loud and close behind 
The o'ertaking steps of his pursuer. 37 o 
Then suddenly from the dark there 

came 
A voice that called me by my name, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



579 




Count Hugo of the Rhine " 



And said to me, ' ' Kneel down and 

pray ! " 
And so my terror passed away, 
Passed utterly away forever. 
Contrition, penitence, remorse, 
Came on me, with o'er whelming 

force ; 
A hope, a longing, an endeavor, 
JBy days of penance and nights of 

prayer, 
To frustrate and defeat despair! 380 
Calm, deep, and still is now my heart, 
With tranquil waters overflowed ; 
A lake whose unseen fountains start, 
Where once the hot volcano glowed. 
And you, O Prince of Hoheneck ! 
Have known me in that earlier time, 
A man of violence and crime, 
Whose passions brooked no curb nor 

check. 
Behold me now, in gentler mood, 
One of this holy brotherhood. 390 

Give me your hand ; here let me kneel ; 
Make your reproaches sharp as steel ; 
Spurn me, and smite me on each 

cheek ; 
No violence can harm the meek, 
There is no wound Christ cannot heal ! 
Yes ; lift your princely hand, and take 
Revenge, if 't is revenge you seek; 
Then pardon me, for Jesus' sake ! 



PRINCE HENRY. 

Arise, Count Hugo ! let there be 

No further strife nor enmity 400 

Between us twain ; we both have 

erred ! 
Too rash in act, too wroth in word, 
From the beginning have we stood 
In fierce, defiant attitude, 
Each thoughtless of the other's right, 
And each reliant on his might. 
But now our souls are more sub- 
dued; 
The hand of God, and not in vain, 
Has touched us with the fire of 

pain. 
Let us kneel down and side by side 410 
Pray, till our souls are purified, 
And pardon will not be denied ! 
They kneel. 

THE REFECTORY 

Gaudiolum of Monks at midnight. Lu- 
cifer disguised as a Friar. 



friar paul sings. 
Ave ! color vini clari, 
Dulcis potus, non amari, 
Tua nos inebriari 
Digneris potentia ! 



580 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

Not so much noise, my worthy freres, 
You '11 disturb the Abbot at his 
prayers. 

friar paul sings. 
O ! quam placens in colore ! 
O ! quam f ragrans in odore ! 420 
O ! quam sapidum in ore ! 
Dulce linguae vinculum ! 

FRIAR CTJTHBERT. 

I should think your tongue had broken 
its chain ! 



FRIAR PAUL 

Felix venter quern intrabis ! 
Felix guttur quod rigabis ! 
Felix os quod tu lavabis ! 
Et beata labia ! 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

Peace ! I say, peace ! 
Will you never cease ! 
You will rouse up the Abbot, I tell 
you again ! 430 

FRIAR JOHN. 

No danger! to-night he will let us 

alone, 
As I happen to know he has guests of 

his own. 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

Who are they ? 

FRIAR JOHN. 

A German Prince and his train, 
Who arrived here just before the rain. 
There is with him a damsel fair to 

see, 
As slender and graceful as a reed ! 
When she alighted from her steed, 
It seemed like a blossom blown from 

a tree. 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

None of your pale-faced girls for 
me! 

None of your damsels of high de- 
gree ! 440 

FRIAR JOHN. 

Come, old fellow, drink down to your 

peg! 
But do not drink any further, I beg 1 



FRIAR PAUL 

In the days of gold, 
The days of old, 
. Crosier of wood 
And bishop of gold ! 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

What an infernal racket and riot ! 

Can you not drink your wine in quiet ? 

Why fill the convent with such scan- 
dals, 

As if we were so many drunken Van- 
dals ? 450 

friar paul, continues. 
Now we have changed 
That law so good 
To crosier of gold 
And bishop of wood ! 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

Well, then, since you are in the mood 
To give your noisy humors vent, 
Sing and howl to your heart's content! 

CHORUS OF MONKS. 

Funde vinum, funde ! 
Tanquam sint fluminis undse, 
Nee quseras unde, 460 

Sed f undas semper abunde ! 

FRIAR JOHN. 

What is the name of yonder friar, 
With an eye that glows like a coal of 

fire, 
And such a black mass of tangled 

hair ? 

FRIAR PAUL. 

He who is sitting there, 
With a rollicking, 
Devil may care, 
Free and easy look and air, 
As if he were used to such feasting 
and frolicking ? 

FRIAR JOHN. 

The same. 470 

FRIAR PAUL. 

He 's a stranger. You had better ask 

his name, 
And where he is going and whence he 

came. 

FRIAR JOHN. 

Hallo ! Sir Friar ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



5«i 



FEIAE PAUL. 

You must raise your voice a little 

higher, 
He does not seem to hear what you 

say. 
Now, try again ! He is looking this 

way. 

FRIAE JOHN. 

Hallo ! Sir Friar, 

We wish to inquire 

Whence you came, and where you are 

going, 
And anything else that is worth the 

knowing. 480 

So be so good as to open your head. 

LUCIFEE. 

I am a Frenchman born and bred, 
Going on a pilgrimage to Rome. 
My home 

Is the convent of St. Gildas de Khuys, 
Of which, very like, you never have 
heard. 



MONKS. 



Never a word ! 



LUCIFEE. 

You must know, then, it is in the 

diocese 
Called the Diocese of Vannes, 
In the province of Brittany. 490 

From the gray rocks of Morbihan 
It overlooks the angry sea; 
The very sea-shore where, 
In his great despair, 
Abbot Abelard walked to and fro, 
Filling the night with woe, 
And wailing aloud to the merciless 

seas 
The name of his sweet Heloise, 
Whilst overhead 

The convent windows gleamed as red 
As the fiery eyes of the monks 

within, 501 

Who with jovial din 
Gave themselves up to all kinds of sin ! 
Ha! that is a convent! that is an 

abbey ! 
Over the doors, 
None of your death-heads carved in 

wood, 
None of your Saints looking pious 

and good. 
None of your Patriarchs old and 

shabby ! 



But the heads and tusks of boars, 

And the cells 510 

Hung all round with the fells 

Of the fallow-deer. 

And then what cheer ! 

What jolly, fat friars, 

Sitting round the great, roaring fires, 

Roaring louder than they, 

With their strong wines, 

And their concubines, 

And never a bell, 

With its swagger and swell, 520 

Calling you up with a start of af- 
fright 

In the dead of night, 

To send you grumbling down dark 
stairs, 

To mumble your prayers ; 

But the cheery crow 

Of cocks in the yard below, 

After daybreak, an hour or so, 

And the barking of deep-mouthed 
hounds, 

These are the sounds 

That, instead of bells, salute the ear. 

And then all day 

Up and away 

Through the forest, hunting the 
deer ! 

Ah, my friends! I'm afraid that 
here 

You are a little too pious, a little too 
tame, 

And the more is the shame. 

'T is the greatest folly 

Not to be jolly; 

That's what I think! 

Come, drink, drink, 

Drink, and die game! 

MONKS. 

And your Abbot What's-his-name? 



S3 1 



540 



LUCIFEE. 



Abelard ! 



MONKS. 

Did he drink hard? 

LUCIFEE. 

Oh, no ! Not he ! 

He was a dry old fellow, 

Without juice enough to get thor 

oughly mellow. 
There he stood, 
Lowering at us in sullen mood, 



5 8 2 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



As if he had come into Brittany 550 
Just to reform our brotherhood ! 

A roar of laughter. 
But you see 
It never would do ! 
For some of us knew a thing or 

two, 
In the Abbey of St. Gildas de Rhuys ! 
For instance, the great ado 
With old Fulbert's niece, 
The young and lovely Heloise. 

FRIAR JOHN. 

Stop there, if you please, 

Till we drink to the fair Heloise. 560 

all, drinking and shouting. 
Heloise ! Heloise ! 

The Chapel-bell tolls. 

lucifer, starting. 

What is that bell for ? Are you such 
asses 

As to keep up the fashion of mid- 
night masses ? 

FRTAR CUTHBERT. 

It is only a poor, unfortunate brother, 
Who is gifted with most miraculous 

powers 
Of getting up at all sorts of hours, 
And, by way of penance and Christian 

meekness, 
Of creeping silently out of his cell 
To take a pull at that hideous bell; 
So that all the monks who are lying 
awake 570 

May murmur some kind of prayer for 

his sake, 
And adapted to his peculiar weak- 
ness! 

FRIAR JOHN. 

From frailty and fall — 

ALL. 

Good Lord, deliver us all ! 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

And before the bell for matins 

sounds, 
He takes his lantern, and goes the 

rounds, 
Flashing it into our sleepy eyes, 
Merely to say it is time to arise. 



But enough of that. Go on, if you 

please, 
With your story about St. Gildas de 

Rhuys. 580 

LUCIFER. 

Well, it finally came to pass 

That, half in fun and half in malice, 

One Sunday at Mass 

We put some poison into the chalice. 

But, either by accident or design, 

Peter Abelard kept away 

From the chapel that day, 

And a poor young friar, who in his 

stead 
Drank the sacramental wine, 
Fell on the steps of the altar, dead ! 590 
But look ! do you see at the window 

there 
That face, with a look of grief and 

despair, 
That ghastly face, as of one in pain? 

MONKS. 

Who ? where ? 

LUCIFER. 

As I spoke, it vanished away again. 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

It is that nefarious 

Siebald the Refectorarius. 

That fellow is always playing the 

scout, 
Creeping and peeping and prowling 

about ; 
And then he regales 600 

The Abbot with scandalous tales. 

LUCIFER. 

A spy in the convent? One of the 
brothers 

Telling scandalous tales of the oth- 
ers? 

Out upon him, the lazy loon ! 

I would put a stop to that pretty 
soon, 

In a way he should rue it. 

MONKS. 

How shall we do it? 

LUCIFER. 

Do you, brother Paul, 

Creep under the window, close to the 

wall, 
And open it suddenly when I call. 610 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



583 



Then seize the villain by the hair, 
And hold him there, 
And punish him soundly, once 
all. 



for 



FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

As St. Dunstan of old, 

We are told, 

Once caught the Devil by the nose ! 

LUCIFER. 

Ha I ha ! that story is very clever, 
But has no foundation whatsoever. 
Quick ! for I see his face again 
Glaring in at the window-pane ; 620 
Now! now! and do not spare your 
blows. 

Friar Paxil opens the window sud- 
denly, and seizes Siebald. 
They heat Mm. 



FRIAR siebald. 
Help ! help ! are you going to 
me? 



slay 



FRIAR PAUL. 

That will teach you again to betray me ! 

FRIAR SIEBALD. 

Mercy! mercy! 
friar paul, shouting and beating. 
Rumpas bellorum lorum 
Vim confer amorum 
Morum verorum rorum 
Tu plena polorum! 

LUCIFER. 

Who stands in the doorway yonder, 
Stretching out his trembling hand, 630 
Just as Abelard used to stand, 
The flash of his keen, black eyes 
Forerunning the thunder ? 

the monks, in confusion. 
The Abbot! the Abbot! 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

And what is the wonder! 
He seems to have taken you by sur- 
prise. 




What is that bell for ? Are you such asses 
As to keep up the fashion of midnight masses ' 



584 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



FRIAR FRANCIS. 

Hide the great flagon 

From fche eyes of the dragon ! 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

Pull the brown hood over your face ! 
This will bring us into disgrace ! 639 

ABBOT. 

What means this revel and carouse ? 

Is this a tavern and drinking-house ? 

Are you Christian monks, or heathen 
devils, 

To pollute this convent with your 
revels ? 

Were Peter Damian still upon earth, 

To be shocked by such ungodly mirth, 

He would write your names, with pen 
of gall, 

In his Book of Gomorrah, one and all ! 

Away, you drunkards ! to your cells, 

And pray till you hear the matin- 
bells; 

You, Brother Francis, and you, Bro- 
ther Paul ! 650 

And as a penance mark each prayer 

With the scourge upon your shoulders 
bare ; 

Nothing atones for such a sin 

But the blood that follows the disci- 
pline. 

And you, Brother Cuthbert, come 
with me 

Alone into the sacristy ; 

You, who should be a guide to your 
brothers, 

And are ten times worse than all the 
others, 

For you I 've a draught that has long 
been brewing, 

You shall do a penance worth the do- 
ing ! 660 

Away to your prayers, then, one and 
all! 

I wonder the very convent wall 

Does not crumble and crush you in its 
fall! 

THE NEIGHBORING NUNNERY 

The Abbess Irmingard sitting with 
Elsie in the moonlight. 

IRMINGARD. 

The night is silent, the wind is still, 
The moon is looking from yonder hill 



Down upon convent, and grove, and 

garden ; 
The clouds have passed away from 

her face, 
Leaving behind them no sorrowful 

trace, 
Only the tender and quiet grace 
Of one whose heart has been healed 

with pardon ! 670 

And such am I. My soul within 
Was dark with passion and soiled with 

sin. 
But now its wounds are healed again; 
Gone are the anguish, the terror, and 

pain; 
For across that desolate land of woe, 
O'er whose burning sands I was forced 

to go, 
A wind from heaven began to blow ; 
And all my being trembled and shook, 
As the leaves of the tree, or the grass 

of the field, 
And I was healed, as the sick are 

healed, 680 

When fanned by the leaves of the Holy 

Book! 

As thou sittest in the moonlight there, 
Its glory flooding thy golden hair, 
And the only darkness that which lies 
In the haunted chambers of thine eyes, 
I feel my soul drawn unto thee, 
Strangely, and strongly, and more and 

more, 
As to one I have known and loved be- 
fore; 
For every soul is akin to me 689 

That dwells in the land of mystery ! 
I am the Lady Irmingard, 
Born of a noble race and name ! 
Many a wandering Suabian bard, 
Whose life was dreary, and bleak, and 

hard, 
Has found through me the way to 
fame. 

Brief and bright were those days, and 

the night 
Which followed was full of a lurid 

light. 
Love, that of every woman's heart 
Will have the whole, and not a part, 
That is to her, in Nature's plan, 700 
More than ambition is to man, 
Her light, her life, her very breath, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



58S 




; The moon is looking from yonder hill 
Down upon convent, and grove, and garden " 



With no alternative but death, 
Found me a maiden soft and young, 
Just from the convent's cloistered 

school, 
And seated on my lowly stool, 
Attentive while the minstrel sung. 

Gallant, graceful, gentle, tall, 

Fairest, noblest, best of all, 

Was Walter of the Vogelweid ; 710 

And, whatsoever may betide, 

Still I think of him with pride ! 

His song was of the summer-time, 

The very birds sang in his rhyme ; 

The sunshine, the delicious air, 

The fragrance of the flowers, were 

there ; 
And I grew restless as I heard, 
Restless and buoyant as a bird, 
Down soft, aerial currents sailing, 
O'er blossomed orchards, and fields in 

bloom, 720 

And through the momentary gloom 
Of shadows o'er the landscape trailing, 
Yielding and borne I knew not where, 
But feeling resistance unavailing. 



And thus, unnoticed and apart, 
And more by accident than choice, 
I listened to that single voice 
Until the chambers of my heart 728 
Were filled with it by night and day. 
One night, — it was a night in May, — 
Within the garden, unawares, 
Under the blossoms in the gloom, 
I heard it utter my own name 
With protestations and wild prayers ; 
And it rang through me, and became 
Like the archangel's trump of doom, 
Which the soul hears, and must obey ; 
And mine arose as from a tomb. 
My former life now seemed to me 
Such as hereafter death may be, 740 
When in the great Eternity 
We shall awake and find it day. 

It was a dream, and would not stay ; 
A dream, that in a single night 
Faded and vanished out of sight. 
My father's anger followed fast 
This passion, as a freshening blast 
Seeks out and fans the fire, whose rage 
It may increase, but not assuage. 



5 86 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



And he exclaimed: "No wandering 
bard 75 o 

Shall win thy hand, O Irmingard ! 
For which Prince Henry of Hoheneck 
By messenger and letter sues." 

Gently, but firmly, I replied : 
" Henry of Hoheneck I discard! 
Never the hand of Irmingard 
Shall lie in his as the hand of a 

bride ! " 
This said I, Walter, for thy sake ; 
This said I, for I could not choose. 
After a pause, my father spake 760 
In that cold and deliberate tone 
Which turns the hearer into stone, 
And seems itself the act to be 
That follows with such dread cer- 
tainty : 
1 ' This or the cloister and the veil ! " 
No other words than these he said, 
But they were like a funeral wail ; 
My life was ended, my heart was 
dead. 

That night from the castle-gate went 

down, 
With silent, slow, and stealthy pace, 
Two shadows, mounted on shadowy 

steeds, 
Taking the narrow path that leads 
Into the forest dense and brown. 
In the leafy darkness of the place, 
One could not distinguish form nor 

face, 
Only a bulk without a shape, 
A darker shadow in the shade ; 
One scarce could say it moved or 

stayed. 
Thus it was we made our escape ! 779 
A foaming brook, with many a bound, 
Followed us like a playful hound ; 
Then leaped before us, and in the hol- 
low 
Paused, and waited for us to follow, 
And seemed impatient, and afraid 
That our tardy flight should be be- 
trayed 
By the sound our horses' hoof -beats 

made. 
And when we reached the plain below, 
We paused a moment and drew rein 
To look back at the castle again ; 789 
And we saw the windows all aglow 
With lights, that were passing to and 
fro; 



Our hearts with terror ceased to beat ; 
The brook crept silen . go our feet ; 
We knew what most we feared to 

know. 
Then suddenly horns began to blow ; 
And we heard a shout, and a heavy 

tramp, 
And our horses snorted in the damp 
Night-air of the meadows green and 

wide, 
And in a moment, side by side, 
So close, they must have seemed but 

one, 800 

The shadows across the moonlight 

run, 
And another came, and swept behind, 
Like the shadow of clouds before the 

wind! 

How I remember that breathless flight 
Across the moors, in the summer 

night ! 
How under our feet the long, white 

road 
Backward like a river flowed, 
Sweeping with it fences and hedges, 
Whilst farther away and overhead, 
Paler than I, with fear and dread, 810 
The moon fled with us as we fled 
Along the forest's jagged edges ! 

All this I can remember well ; 

But of what afterwards befell 

I nothing further can recall 

Than a blind, desperate, headlong 

fall; 
The rest is a blank and darkness all. 
When I awoke out of this swoon, 
The sun was shining, not the moon, 
Making a cross upon the wall 820 

With the bars of my windows narrow 

and tall ; 
And I prayed to it, as I had been 

wont to pray, 
From early childhood, day by day, 
Each morning, as in bed I lay ! 
I was lying again in my own room! 
And I thanked God, in my fever and 

pain, 
That those shadows on the midnight 

plain 
Were gone, and could not come again ! 
I struggled no longer with my doom! 

This happened many years ago 830 
I left my father's home to come 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



5»7 



Like Catherine to her martyrdom, 

For blindly I esteemed it so. 

And when I heard the convent door 

Behind me close, to ope no more, 

I felt it smite me like a blow. 

Through all my limbs a shudder ran, 

And on my bruisM spirit fell 

The dampness of my narrow cell 

As night-air on a wounded man, 8 4 o 

Giving intolerable pain. 

But now a better life began. 

I felt the agony decrease 

By slow degrees, then wholly cease, 

Ending in perfect rest and peace ! 

It was not apathy, nor dulness, 

That weighed and pressed upon my 

brain, 
But the same passion I had given 
To earth before, now turned to heaven 
With all its overflowing fulness. 850 

Alas ! the world is full of peril ! 

The path that runs through the fairest 
meads, 

On the sunniest side of the valley, leads 

Into a region bleak and sterile ! 

Alike in the high-born and the lowly, 

The will is feeble, and passion strong. 

We cannot sever right from wrong ; 

>Some falsehood mingles with all 
truth ; 

Nor is it strange the heart of youth 

Should waver and comprehend but 
slowly 860 

The things that are holy and unholy ! 

But in this sacred, calm retreat, 

We are all well and safely shielded 

From winds that blow, and waves 
that beat, 

From the cold, and rain, and blighting 
heat, 

To which the strongest hearts have 
yielded. 

Here we stand as the Virgins Seven, 

For our celestial bridegroom yearn- 
ing ; 

Our hearts are lamps forever burn- 
ing, 

With a steady and unwavering 
flame, 870 

Pointing upward, forever the same, 

Steadily upward toward the heaven ! 

The moon is hidden behind a cloud ; 
A sudden darkness fills the room, 



And thy deep eyes, amid the gloom, 

Shine like jewels in a shroud. 

On the leaves is a sound of falling 
rain ; 

A bird, awakened in its nest, 

Gives a faint twitter of unrest, 

Then smooths its plumes and sleeps 
again. 880 

No other sounds than these I hear ; 

The hour of midnight must be near. 

Thou art o'erspent with the day's 
fatigue 

Of riding many a dusty league ; 

Sink, then, gently to thy slumber ; 

Me so many cares encumber, 

So many ghosts, and forms of fright, 

Have started from their graves to- 
night, 

They have driven sleep from mine eyes 
away: 

I will go down to the chapel and 
pray. 890 



A COVERED BEIDGE AT LUCERNE 
PRINCE HENRY. 

God's blessing on the architects who 
build 

The bridges o'er swift rivers and 
abysses 

Before impassable to human feet, 

No less than on the builders of cathe- 
drals, 

Whose massive walls are bridges 
thrown across 

The dark and terrible abyss of Death. 

Well has the name of Pontifex been 
given 

Unto the Church's head, as the chief 
builder 8 

And architect of the invisible bridge 

That leads from earth to heaven. 

ELSIE. 

How dark it grows ! 
What are these paintings on the walls 
around us ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

The Dance Macaber ! 

ELSIE. 

What? 



5 88 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



PRINCE HENRY. 

The Dance of Death ! 

All that go to and fro must look upon 
it, 

Mindful of what they shall be, while 
beneath, 

Among the wooden piles, the turbu- 
lent river 

Rushes, impetuous as the river of life, 

With dimpling eddies, ever green 
and bright, 

Save where the shadow of this bridge 
falls on it. 

ELSIE. 

Oh yes ! I see it now ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

The grim musician 

Leads all men through the mazes of 
that dance, 20 

To different sounds in different meas- 
ures moving; 

Sometimes he plays a lute, sometimes 
a drum, 

To tempt or terrify. 

ELSIE. 

What is this picture ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

It is a young man singing to a nun, 
Who kneels at her devotions, but in 

kneeling 
Turns round to look at him ; and 

Death, meanwhile, 
Is putting out the candles on the 

altar ! 

ELSIE. 

Ah, what a pity 't is that she should 

listen 
Unto such songs, when in her orisons 
She might have heard in heaven the 

angels singing ! 30 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Here he has stolen a jester's cap and 

bells, 
And dances with the Queen. 

ELSIE. 

A foolish jest! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

And here the heart of the new-wedded 
wife. 



Coming from church with her beloved 

lord, 
He startles with the rattle of his 

drum. 

ELSIE. 

Ah, that is sad ! And yet perhaps 't is 
best 

That she should die, with all the sun- 
shine on her, 

And all the benedictions of the morn- 
ing. 

Before this affluence of golden light 

Shall fade into a cold and clouded 
gray, 4 o 

Then into darkness ! 



PRINCE HENRY. 

Under it is written, 
" Nothing but death shall separate 
thee and me ! " 

ELSIE. 

And what is this, that follows close 
upon it ? 

PRLNCE HENRY. 

Death, playing on a dulcimer. Behind 
him, 

A poor old woman, with a rosary, 

Follows the sound, and seems to wish 
her feet 

Were swifter to o'ertake him. Under- 
neath, 

The inscription reads, "Better is 
Death than Life." 

ELSIE. 

Better is Death than Life! Ah yes! to 

thousands 
Death plays upon a dulcimer, and 

sings 50 

That song of consolation, till the air 
Rings with it, and they cannot choose 

but follow 
Whither he leads. And not the old 

alone, 
But the young also hear it, and are 

still. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Yes, in their sadder moments, Tis 

the sound 
Of their own hearts they hear, half 

full of tears, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



589 



Which are like crystal cups, half filled 
with water, 

Responding to the pressure of a fin- 
ger 

With music sweet and low and melan- 
choly. 

Let us go forward, and no longer 
stay 60 

In this great picture-gallery of Death ! 

I hate it ! ay, the very thought of it ! 



To come once more into the light of 

day, 
Out of that shadow of death! To 

hear again 70 

The hoof-beats of our horses on firm 

ground, 
And not upon those hollow planks, 

resounding 
With a sepulchral echo, like the 

clods 




Among the wooden piles, the turbulent river 
Rushes, impetuous as the river of life " 



ELSIE. 

Why is it hateful to you? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

For the reason 
That life, and all that speaks of life, 

is lovely, 
And death, and all that speaks of 

death, is hateful. 

ELSIE. 

The grave itself is but a covered 

bridge, 
Leading from light to light, through 

a brief darkness ! 

prince henry, emerging from the 
bridge. 

I breathe again more freely! Ah, 
how pleasant 



On coffins in a churchyard ! Yonder 
lies 

The Lake of the Four Forest-towns, 
apparelled 

In light, and lingering, like a village 
maiden, 

Hid in the bosom of her native moun- 
tains, 

Then pouring all her life into an- 
other's, 

Changing her name and being! Over- 
head, 

Shaking his cloudy tresses loose in 
air, 80 

Rises Pilatus, with his windy pines. 

They pass on. 



59Q 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



THE DEVIL'S BRIDGE 

Prtnce Henry and Elsie crossing 
with attendants. 

GUIDE. 

This bridge is called the Devil's 

Bridge. 
With a single arch, from ridge to 

ridge, 
It leaps across the terrible chasm ■ 
Yawning beneath us, black and deep 
As if, in some convulsive spasm, 
The summits of the hills had cracked, 
And made a road for the cataract 
That raves and rages down the steep! 

luciper, under the bridge. 
Ha! ha! 90 

guide. 
Never any bridge but this 
Could stand across the wild abyss ; 
All the rest, of wood or stone, 
By the Devil's hand were overthrown. 
He toppled crags from the precipice, 
And whatsoe'er was built by day 
In the night was swept away ; 
None could stand but this alone. 

luciper, under the bridge. 
Ha! ha! 

GUIDE. 

I showed you in the valley a bowlder 
Marked with the imprint of his shoul- 
der ; 101 
As he was bearing it up this way, 
A peasant, passing, cried, "Herr 

Je!" 
And the Devil dropped it in his 

fright, 
And vanished suddenly out of sight ! 

lucifer, under the bridge. 
Ha! ha! 



Abbot Giraldus of Einsiedel, 
For pilgrims on their way to Rome, 
Built this at last, with a single arch, 
Under which, on its endless march, no 
Runs the river, white with foam, 
Like a thread through the eye of a 

needle. 
And the Devil promised to let it 

stand, 



Under compact and condition 

That the first living thing which 

crossed 
Should be surrendered into his hand, 
And be beyond redemption lost. 

lucifer, under the bridge. 
Ha! ha! perdition! 



At length, the bridge being all com- 
pleted, 
The Abbot, standing at its head, 120 
Threw across it a loaf of bread, 
Which a hungry dog sprang after, 
And the rocks reechoed with the peals 

of laughter 
To see the Devil thus defeated 1 
TJiey pass on. 

lucifer, under the bridge. 
Ha! ha! defeated! 

For journeys and for crimes like this 
I let the bridge stand o'er the abyss ! 

THE ST. GOTHARD PASS 
PRINCE HENRY. 

This is the highest point. Two ways 
the rivers 

Leap down to different seas, and as 
they roll 

Grow deep and still, and their majes- 
tic presence 130 

Becomes a benefaction to the towns 

They visit, wandering silently among 
them, 

Like patriarchs old among their shin- 
ing tents. 



but mosses 
Grow on these rocks. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Yet are they not forgotten • 
Beneficent Nature sends the mists to 
feed them. 

ELSIE. 

See yonder little cloud, that, borne 

aloft 
So tenderly by the wind, floats fast 

away 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



591 



Over the snowy peaks ! It seems to 


ELSIE. 


me 


Would I were borne unto my grave, 


The body of St. Catherine, borne by 


as she was, 


angels! 140 


Upon angelic shoulders ! Even now 


PRINCE HENRY. 


I seem uplifted by them, light as air ! 
What sound is that ? 


Thou art St. Catherine, and invisible 




angels 


PRINCE HENRY. 


Bear thee across these chasms and 


The tumbling avalanches ! 


precipices, 




Lest thou shouldst dash thy feet 


ELSIE. 


against a stone ! 


How awful, yet how beautiful ! 




The Devil's Bridge 



S9 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



PRINCE HENRY. 

These are 
The voices of the mountains! Thus 

they ope 
Their snowy lips, and speak unto each 

other, 150 

In the primeval language, lost to man. 

ELSIE. 

What land is this that spreads itself 
beneath us ? 

PKINCE HENRY. 

Italy! Italy! 

ELSIE. 

Land of the Madonna ! 
How beautiful it is ! It seems a gar- 
den 
Of Paradise ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Nay, of Gethsemane 

To thee and me, of passion and of 
prayer ! 

Yet once of Paradise. Long years 
ago 

I wandered as a youth among its 
bowers, 

And never from my heart has faded 
quite 

Its memory, that, like a summer sun- 
set, 160 

Encircles with a ring of purple light 

All the horizon of my youth. 

GUIDE. 

O friends! 
The days are short, the way before us 

long ; 
We must not linger, if we think to 

reach 
The inn at Belinzona before vespers ! 

They pass on. 



AT THE FOOT OF THE ALPS 
A lialt under the trees at noon. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Here let us pause a moment in the 

trembling 
Shadow and sunshine of the roadside 

trees, 



And, our tired horses in a group as> 

sembling, 
Inhale long draughts of this delicious 

breeze. 
Our fleeter steeds have distanced our 

attendants ; i 70 

They lag behind us with a slower pace ; 
We will await them under the green 

pendants 
Of the great willows in this shady 

place. 
Ho, Barbarossa! how thy mottled 

haunches 
Sweat with this canter over hill and 

glade ! 
Stand still, and let these overhanging 

branches 
Fan thy hot sides and comfort thee 

with shade ! 

ELSIE. 

What a delightful landscape spreads 

before us, 
Marked with a whitewashed cottage 

here and there ! 
And, in luxuriant garlands drooping 

o'er us, 180 

Blossoms of grape-vines scent the 

sunny air. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Hark! what sweet sounds are those, 

whose accents holy 
Fill the warm noon with music sad 

and sweet ! 

ELSIE. 

It is a band of pilgrims, moving 
slowly 

On their long journey, with uncov- 
ered feet. 

pilgrims, chanting the Hymn of St. 
Hildebert. 
Me receptet Sion ilia, 
Sion David, urbs tranquilla, 
Cujus faber auctor lucis, 
Cujus porta? lignum crucis, 
Cujus claves lingua Petri, 190 
Cujus cives semper laeti, 
Cujus muri lapis vivus, 
Cujus custos Rex festivus! 

lucifer, a Friar in the procession. 
Here am I, too, in the pious band, 
In the garb of a barefooted Carmelite 
dressed ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



593 




It is a band of pilgrims, moving slowly " 



The soles of my feet are as hard and 

tanned 
As the conscience of old Pope Hilde- 

brand, 
The Holy Satan, who made the wives 
Of the bishops lead such shameful lives. 
All day long I beat my breast, 200 

And chant with a most particular zest 
The Latin hymns, which I understand 
Quite as well, I think, as the rest. 
And at night such lodging in barns 

and sheds, 
Such a hurly-burly in country inns, 
Such a clatter of tongues in empty 

heads, 
Such a helter-skelter of prayers and 

sins! 
Of all the contrivances of the time 
For sowing broadcast the seeds of 

crime, 
There is none so pleasing to me and 

mine 210 

As a pilgrimage to some far-off shrine! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

If from the outward man we judge 

the inner, 
And cleanliness is godliness, I fear 



A hopeless reprobate, a hardened sin- 
ner, 

Must be that Carmelite now passing 
near. 

LUCIFER. 

There is my German Prince again, 
Thus far on his journey to Salern, 
And the lovesick girl, whose heated 

brain 
Is sowing the cloud to reap the rain ; 
But it 's a long road that has no turn ! 
Let them quietly hold their way, 221 
I have also a part in the play. 
But first I must act to my heart's con- 
tent 
This mummery and this merriment, 
And drive this motley flock of sheep 
Into the fold, where drink and sleep 
The jolly old friars of Bene vent. 
Of a truth, it often provokes me to 

laugh 
To see these beggars hobble along, 
Lamed and maimed, and fed upon 
chaff, 230 

Chanting their wonderful piff and 
paff, 



594 



CHRISTUS : A MYSTERY 



And, to make up for not understand- 
ing the song, 

Singing it fiercely, and wild, and 
strong ! 

Were it not for my magic garters and 
staff, 

And the goblets of goodly wine I quaff, 

And the mischief I make in the idle 
throng, 

I should not continue the business 
long. 

pilgrims, chanting. 
In hac urbe, lux solennis, 
Ver aeternum, pax perennis ; 
In hac odor implens caelos, 240 
In hac semper f estum melos ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Do you observe that monk among the 

train, 
Who pours from his great throat the 

roaring bass, 
As a cathedral spout pours out the 

rain, 
And this way turns his rubicund, 

round face ? 

ELSIE. 

It is the same who, on the Strasburg 

square, 
Preached to the people inthe open air. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

And he has crossed o'er mountain, 

field, and fell, 
On that good steed, that seems to bear 

him well, 
The hackney of the Friars of Orders 

Gray, 250 

His own stout legs! He, too, was in 

the play, 
Both as King Herod and Ben Israel. 
Good morrow, Friar! 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

Good morrow, noble Sir ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

I speak in German, for, unless I err, 
You are a German. 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

I cannot gainsay you. 
But by what instinct, or what secret 
sign, 



Meeting me here, do you straightway 
divine 

That northward of the Alps my coun- 
try lies ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Your accent, like St. Peter's, would 
betray you, 

Did not your yellow beard and your 
blue eyes. 260 

Moreover, we have seen your face be- 
fore, 

And heard you preach at the Cathe- 
dral door 

On Easter Sunday, in the Strasburg 
square. 

We were among the crowd that gath- 
ered there, 

And saw you play the Rabbi with 
great skill, 

As if, by leaning o'er so many years 

To walk with little children, your own 
will 

Had caught a childish attitude from 
theirs, 

A kind of stooping in its form and gait, 

And could no longer stand erect and 
straight. 270 

Whence come you now ? 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

From the old monastery 
Of Hirschau, in the forest ; being sent 
Upon a pilgrimage to Benevent, 
To see the image of the Yirgin Mary, 
That moves its holy eyes, and some- 
times speaks, 
And lets the piteous tears run down 

its cheeks, 
To touch the hearts of the impenitent. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Oh, had I faith, as in the days gone by, 

That knew no doubt, and feared no 

mystery! 279 

lucifer, at a distance. 
Ho, Cuthbert! Friar Cuthbert ! 

friar cuthbert. 

Farewell, Prince ! 
I cannot stay to argue and convince. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

This is indeed the blessed Mary's land, 
Yirgin and Mother of our dear Re- 
deemer ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



595 



All hearts are touched and softened at 
her name, 

Alike the bandit, with the bloody 
hand, 

The priest, the prince, the scholar, 
and the peasant. 

The man of deeds, the visionary 
dreamer, 

Pay homage to her as one ever pre- 
sent! 

And even as children, who have much 
offended 

A too indulgent father, in great 
shame, 290 

Penitent, and yet not daring unat- 
tended 

To go into his presence, at the gate 

Speak with their sister, and confiding 
wait 

Till she goes in before and intercedes ; 

So men, repenting of their evil deeds, 

And yet not venturing rashly to draw 
near 

With their requests an angry father's 
ear, 

Offer to her their prayers and their 
confession, 

And she for them in heaven makes in- 
tercession. 

And if our Faith had given us nothing 
more 300 

Than this example of all womanhood, 

So mild, so merciful, so strong, so 
good, 

So patient, peaceful, loyal, loving, 
pure, 

This were enough to prove it higher 
and truer 

Than all the creeds the world had 
known before. 

pilgrims, chanting afar off. 
Urbs ccelestis, urbs beata, 
Supra petram collocata, 
Urbs in portu satis tuto 
De longinquo te saluto, 
Te saluto, te suspiro, 310 

Te affecto, te requiro ! 

THE INN AT GENOA 
A terrace overlooking the sea. Night. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

It is the sea, it is the sea, 
In all its vague immensity, 



Fading and darkening in the distance J 
Silent, majestical, and slow, 
The white ships haunt it to and fro, 
With all their ghostly sails unfurled, 
As phantoms from another world 
Haunt the dim confines of existence ! 
But ah ! how few can comprehend 320 
Their signals, or to what good end 
From land to land they come and go ! 
Upon a sea more vast and dark 
The spirits of the dead embark, 
All voyaging to unknown coasts. 
Wa wave our farewells from the 

shore, 
And they depart, and come no more, 
Or come as phantoms and as ghosts. 

Above the darksome sea of death 
Looms the great life that is to be, 330 
A land of cloud and mystery, 
A dim mirage, with shapes of men 
Long dead, and passed beyond our 

ken. 
Awe-struck we gaze, and hold our 

breath 
Till the fair pageant vanisheth, 
Leaving us in perplexity, 
And doubtful whether it has been 
A vision of the world unseen, 
Or a bright image of our own 
Against the sky in vapors thrown. 340 

lucifer, singing from the sea. 
Thou didst not make it, thou canst 

not mend it, 
But thou hast the power to end it ! 
The sea is silent, the sea is discreet, 
Deep it lies at thy very feet ; 
There is no confessor like unto Death ! 
Thou canst not see him, but he is 

near ; 
Thou needst not whisper above thy 

breath, 
And he will hear ; 
He will answer the questions, 
The vague surmises and suggestions, 
That fill thy soul with doubt and 

fear! * 35 i 

PRINCE HENRY. 

The fisherman, who lies afloat, 
With shadowy sail, in yonder boat, 
Is singing softly to the Night ! 
But do I comprehend aright 
The meaning of the words he sung 
So sweetly in his native tongue? 



59^ 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Ah yes ! the sea is still and deep. 
All things within its bosom sleep! 
A single step, and all is o'er ; 360 

A plunge, a bubble, and no more ; 
And thou, dear Elsie, wilt be free 
From martyrdom and agony. 

elsie, coming from her chamber upon 

the terrace. 
The night is calm and cloudless, 
And still as still can be, 
And the stars come forth to listen 
To the music of the sea. 
They gather, and gather, and gather, 
Until they crowd the sky , 
And listen, in breathless silence, 370 
To the solemn litany. 
It begins in rocky caverns, 
As a voice that chants alone 
To the pedals of the organ 
In monotonous undertone ; 
And anon from shelving beaches, 
And shallow sands beyond, 
In snow-white robes uprising 
The ghostly choirs respond. 
And sadly and unceasing 380 

The mournful voice sings on, 
And the snow-white choirs still an- 
swer 
Christe eleison ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Angel of God! thy finer sense per- 
ceives 

Celestial and perpetual harmonies ! 

Thy purer soul, that trembles and be- 
lieves, 

Hears the archangel's trumpet in the 
breeze, 

And where the forest rolls, or ocean 
heaves, 

Cecilia's organ sounding in the seas, 

And tongues of prophets speaking in 
the leaves. 390 

But I hear discord only and despair, 

And whispers as of demons in the air ! 

AT SEA 
IL PADRONE. 

The wind upon our quarter lies, 
And on before the freshening gale, 
That fills the snow-white lateen sail, 
Swiftly our light felucca flies. 
Around, the billows burst and foam ; 
They lift her o'er the sunken rock, 



They beat her sides with many a 

shock, 
And then upon their flowing dome 400 
They poise her, like a weathercock ! 
Between us and the western skies 
The hills of Corsica arise ; 
Eastward, in yonder long blue line, 
The summits of the Apennine, 
And southward, and still far away, 
Salerno, on its sunny bay. 
You cannot see it, where it lies. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Ah, would that never more mine eyes 

Might see its towers by night or 

day ! 410 

ELSIE. 

Behind us, dark and awfully, 
There comes a cloud out of the sea, 
That bears the form of a hunted deer, 
With hide of brown, and hoofs of 

black, 
And antlers laid upon its back, 
And fleeing fast and wild with fear, 
As if the hounds were on its track ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Lo! while we gaze, it breaks and 

falls 
In shapeless masses, like the walls 
Of a burnt city. Broad and red 420 
The fires of the descending sun 
Glare through the windows, and o'er- 

head, 
Athwart the vapors, dense and dun, 
Long shafts of silvery light arise, 
Like rafters that support the skies ! 

ELSIE. 

See ! from its summit the lurid levin 
Flashes downward without warning, 
As Lucifer, son of the morning, 
Fell from the battlements of heaven ! 

IL PADRONE. 

I must entreat you, friends, below ! 430 
The angry storm begins to blow, 
For the weather changes with the 

moon. 
All this morning, until noon, 
We had baffling winds, and sudden 

flaws 
Struck the sea with their cat's-paws. 
Only a little hour ago 
I was whistling to Saint Antonio 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



597 



For a capful of wind to fill our sail, 
And instead of a breeze he has sent a 

gale. 
Last night I saw Saint Elmo's stars 440 
With their glimmering lanterns, all at 

play 
On the tops of the masts and the tips 

of the spars, 
And I knew we should have foul 

weather to-day. 
Cheerily, my hearties ! yo heave ho ! 
Brail up the mainsail, and let her go 
As the winds will and Saint Antonio! 

Do you see that Livornese felucca, 
That vessel to the windward yonder, 
Running with her gunwale under ? 
I was looking when the wind o'ertook 
her. 450 

She had all sail set, and the only won- 
der 
Is that at once the strength of the 

blast 
Did not carry away her mast. 
She is a galley of the Gran Duca, 
That, through the fear of the Alger- 

ines, 
Convoys those lazy brigantines, 
Laden with wine and oil from Lucca. 



Now all is ready, high and low ; 
Blow, blow, good Saint Antonio ! 



459 



Ha ! that is the first dash of the rain, 
With a sprinkle of spray above the rails, 
Just enough to moisten our sails, 
And make them ready for the strain. 
See how she leaps, as the blasts o'er- 

take her, 
And speeds away with a bone in her 

mouth ! 
Now keep her head toward the south, 
And there is no danger of bank or 

breaker. 
With the breeze behind us, on we go; 
Not too much, good Saint Antonio! 

VI 

THE SCHOOL OF SALERNO 

A travelling Scholastic affixing his 
Theses to the gate of the College. 

SCHOLASTIC. 

There, that is my gauntlet, my ban- 
ner, my shield, 

Hung up as a challenge to all the 
field ! 




" Swiftly our light felucca flies ' 



59» 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



One hundred and twenty-five propo- 
sitions, 

Which I will maintain with the sword 
of the tongue 

Against all disputants, old and young. 

Let us see if doctors or dialecticians 

Will dare to dispute my definitions, 

Or attack any one of my learned theses. 

Here stand I ; the end shall be as God 
pleases. 

I think I have proved, by profound 
researches, 10 

The error of all those doctrines so 
vicious 

Of the old Areopagite Dionysius, 

That are making such terrible work in 
the churches, 

By Michael the Stammerer sent from 
the East, 

And done into Latin by that Scottish 
beast, 

Johannes Duns Scotus, who dares to 
maintain, 

In the face of the truth, the error in- 
fernal, 

That the universe is and must be eter- 
nal ; 

At first laying down, as a fact funda- 
mental, 

That nothing with God can be acciden- 
tal ; 20 

Then asserting that God before the 
creation 

Could not have existed, because it is 
plain 

That, had He existed, He would have 
created; 

Which is begging the question that 
should be debated, 

And moveth me less to anger than 
laughter. 

All nature, he holds, is a respiration 

Of the Spirit of God, who, in breath- 
ing, hereafter 

Will inhale it into his bosom again, 

So that nothing but God alone will 
remain. 

And therein he contradicteth him- 
self ; 30 

For he opens the whole discussion by 
stating, 

That God can only exist in creating. 

That question I think I have laid on 
the shelf! 

He goes out. Two Doctors come in dis- 
puting, and followed by pupils. 



DOCTOR SERAFINO. 

I, with the Doctor Seraphic, main- 
tain, 

That a word which is only conceived 
in the brain 

Is a type of eternal Generation ; 

The spoken word is the Incarnation. 

DOCTOR CHERTJBmO. 

What do I care for the Doctor Se- 
raphic, 
With all his wordy chaffer and traffic ? 

DOCTOR SERAFINO. 

You make but a paltry show of resis- 
tance ; 40 
Universals have no real existence ! 

DOCTOR CHERUBINO. 

Your words are but idle and empty 

chatter ; 
Ideas are eternally joined to matter ! 

DOCTOR SERAFINO. 

May the Lord have mercy on your 

position, 
You wretched, wrangling culler of 

herbs! 

DOCTOR CHERUBINO. 

May he send your soul to eternal per- 
dition, 

For your Treatise on the Irregular 
Verbs ! 

They rush out fighting. Two Scholars 
come in. 

FIRST SCHOLAR. 

Monte Cassino, then, is your College. 
What think you of ours here at 
Salern ? 

SECOND SCHOLAR. 

To tell the truth, I arrived so lately, 50 
I hardly yet have had time to discern. 
So much, at least, I am bound to 

acknowledge : 
The air seems healthy, the buildings 

stately, 
And on the whole I like it greatly. 

FIRST SCHOLAR. 

Yes, the air is sweet ; the Calabrian 

hills 
Send us down puffs of mountain air ; 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



599 




And in summer-time the sea-breeze 
fills 

With its coolness cloister, and court, 
and square. 

Then at every season of the year 

There are crowds of guests and trav- 
ellers here ; 60 

Pilgrims, and mendicant friars, and 
traders 

From the Levant, with figs and wine, 

And bands of wounded and sick Cru- 
saders, 

Coming back from Palestine. 

SECOND SCHOLAR. 

And what are the studies you pursue ? 
What is the course you here go 
through ? 

FIRST SCHOLAR. 

The first three years of the college 

course 
Are given to Logic alone, as the 

source 
Of all that is noble, and wise, and 

true. 



SECOND SCHOLAR. 

That seems rather strange, I must con- 
fess, 70 

In a Medical School ; yet, neverthe- 
less, 

You doubtless have reasons for that. 

FIRST SCHOLAR. 

Oh yes ! 
For none but a clever dialectician 
Can hope to become a great physi- 
cian ; 
That has been settled long ago. 
Logic makes an important part 
Of the mystery of the healing art : 
For without it how could you hope to 

show 
That nobody knows so much as you 

know ? 
After this there are five years more 80 
Devoted wholly to medicine, 
With lectures on chirurgical lore, 
And dissections of the bodies of swine, 
As likest the human form divine. 

SECOND SCHOLAR. 

What are the books now most in 
vogue ? 

FIRST SCHOLAR. 

Quite an extensive catalogue ; 
Mostly, however, books of our own ; 
As Gariopontus' Passionarius, 
And the writings of Matthew Platea- 
rius ; 



6oo 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



And a volume universally known 90 

As the Regimen of the School of 
Salern, 

For Robert of Normandy written in 
terse 

And very elegant Latin verse. 

Each of these writings has its turn. 

And when at length we have finished 
these, 

Then comes the struggle for degrees, 

With all the oldest and ablest critics ; 

The publjc thesis and disputation, 

Question, and answer, and explana- 
tion 

Of a passage out of Hippocrates, 100 

Or Aristotle's Analytics. 

There the triumphant Magister stands ! 

A book is solemnly placed in his 
hands, 

On which he swears to follow the rule 

And ancient forms of the good old 
School ; 

To report if any confectionarius 

Mingles his drugs with matters various, 

And to visit his patients twice a day, 

And once in the night, if they live in 
town, 

And if they are poor, to take no 
pay. no 

Having faithfully promised these, 

His head is crowned with a laurel 
crown ; 

A kiss on his cheek, a ring on his 
hand, 

The Magister Artium et Physices 

Goes forth from the school like a lord 
of the land. 

And now, as we have the whole morn- 
ing before us, 

Let us go in, if you make no objec- 
tion, 

And listen awhile to a learned prelec- 
tion 

On Marcus Aurelius Cassiodorus. 

They go in. Enter Lucifer as a Doctor. 

LUCIFER. 

This is the great School of Salern ! 120 
A land of wrangling and of quarrels, 
Of brains that seethe, and hearts that 

burn, 
Where every emulous scholar hears, 
In every breath that comes to his ears, 
The rustling of another's laurels ! 
The air of the place is called salu- 
brious ; 



The neighborhood of Vesuvius lends 

it 
An odor volcanic, that rather mends it, 
And the buildings have an aspect lu- 
gubrious, 
That inspires a feeling of awe and 
terror 130 

Into the heart of the beholder, 
And befits such an ancient homestead 

of error, 
Where the old falsehoods moulder and 

smoulder, 
And yearly by many hundred hands 
Are carried away, in the zeal of youth, 
And sown like tares in the field of 

truth, 
To blossom and ripen in other lands. 

What have we here, affixed to the 
gate? 

The challenge of some scholastic 
wight, 

Who wishes to hold a public debate 140 

On sundry questions wrong or right ! 

Ah, now this is my great delight ! 

For I have often observed of late 

That such discussions end in a fight. 

Let us see what the learned wag main- 
tains 

With such a prodigal waste of brains. 

Heads. 

" Whether angels in moving from 

place to place 
Pass through the intermediate space. 
Whether God himself is the author of 

evil, 
Or whether that is the work of the 

Devil. 150 

When, where, and wherefore Lucifer 

fell, 
And whether he now is chained in 

hell." 
I think I can answer that question 

well! 
So long as the boastful human mind 
Consents in such mills as this to grind, 
I sit very firmly upon my throne ! 
Of a truth it almost makes me laugh, 
To see men leaving the golden grain 
To gather in piles the pitiful chaff 
That old Peter Lombard thrashed with 

his brain, 160 

To have it caught up and tossed again 
On the horns of the Dumb Ox of Co- 
logne ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



60 1 



But my guests approach ! there is in 

the air 
A fragrance, like that of the Beautiful 

Garden 
Of Paradise, in the days that were ! 
An odor of innocence and of prayer, 
And of love, and faith that never fails, 
Such as the fresh young heart exhales 
Before it begins to wither and harden! 
I cannot breathe such an atmosphere ! 
My soul is filled with a nameless fear, 
That, after all my trouble and pain, 
After all my restless endeavor, 173 

The youngest, fairest soul of the twain, 
The most ethereal, most divine, 
Will escape from my hands for ever 

and ever. 
But the other is already mine ! 
Let him live to corrupt his race, 
Breathing among them, with every 

breath, 
Weakness, selfishness, and the base 180 
And pusillanimous fear of death, 
I know his nature, and I know 
That of all who in my ministry 
Wander the great earth to and fro, 
And on my errands come and go, 
The safest and subtlest are such as he. 
Enter Prince Henry and Elsie, with 
attendants. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Can you direct us to Friar Angelo ? 

LUCIFER. 

He stands before you. 

PRINCE BENRY. 

Then you know our purpose. 

I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, and 
this 

The maiden that I spake of in my let- 
ters. 190 

LUCIFER. 

It is a very grave and solemn business ! 
We must not be precipitate. Does 

she 
Without compulsion, of her own free 

will, 
Consent to this ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Against all opposition, 
Against all prayers, entreaties, protes- 
tations. 
She will not be persuaded. 



LUCIFER. 

That is strange 1 
Have you thought well of it ? 

ELSIE. 

I come not here 
To argue, but to die. Your business 

is not 
To question, but to kill me. I am 

ready. i 99 

I am impatient to be gone from here 
Ere any thoughts of earth disturb 

again 
The spirit of tranquillity within me. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Would I had not come here ! Would I 
were dead, • 

And thou wert in thy cottage in the 
forest, 

And hadst not known me ! Why have 
I done this ? 

Let me go back and die. 

ELSIE. 

It cannot be ; 

Not if these cold, flat stones on which 
we tread 

Were coulters heated white, and yon- 
der gateway 

Flamed like a furnace with a seven- 
fold heat. 209 

I must fulfil my purpose. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

I forbid it ! 
Not one step further. For I only meant 
To put thus far thy courage to the 

proof. 
It is enough. I, too, have strength to 

die, 
For thou hast taught me ! 

ELSIE. 

O my Prince ! remember 

Your promises. Let me fulfil my 
errand. 

You do not look on life and death as I 
do. 

There are two angels, that attend un- 
seen 

Each one of us, and in great books 
record 

Our good and evil deeds. He who 
writes down 

The good ones, after every action 
closes 220 



602 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



His volume, and ascends with it to God. 
The other keeps his dreadful day-book 

open 
Till sunset, that we may repent ; 

which doing, 
The record of the action fades away, 
And leaves a line of white across the 

page. 
Now if my act be good, as I believe, 
It cannot be recalled. It is already 
Sealed up in heaven, as a good deed 

accomplished. 
The rest is yours. Why wait you ? I 

am ready. 

To her attendants. 
Weep not, my friends ! rather rejoice 

with me. 230 

I shall not feel the pain, but shall be 

gone, 
And you will have another friend in 

heaven. 
Then start not at the creaking of the 

door 
Through which I pass. I see what 

lies beyond it. 

To Prince Henry. 
And you, O Prince! bear back my 

benison 
Unto my father's house, and all within 

it. 
This morning in the church I prayed 

for them, 
After confession, after absolution, 
When my whole soul was white, I 

prayed for them. 
God will take care of them, they need 

me not. 240 

And in your life let my remembrance 

linger, 
As something not to trouble and dis- 
turb it, 
But to complete it, adding life to life. 
And if at times beside the evening fire 
You see my face among the other faces, 
Let it not be regarded as a ghost 
That haunts your house, but as a 

guest that loves you. 
Nay, even as one of your own family, 
Without whose presence there were 

something wanting. 249 

I have no more to say. Let us go in. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Friar Angelo 1 I charge you on your 
life, 



Believe not what she says, for she is 

mad, 
And comes here not to die, but to be 

healed. 

ELSIE. 

Alas ! Prince Henry ! 

LUCIFER. 

Come with me ; this way. 
Elsie goes in with Lucifer, who 
thrusts Prince Henry back and 
closes the door. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Gone! and the light of all my life 
gone with her ! 

A sudden darkness falls upon the 
world ! 

Oh, what a vile and abject thing am I 

That purchase length of days at such 
a cost ! 

Not by her death alone, but by the 
death 

Of all that's good and true and noble 
in me ! 260 

All manhood, excellence, and self -re- 
spect, 

All love, and faith, and hope, and 
heart are dead ! 

All my divine nobility of nature 

By this one act is forfeited forever. 

I am a Prince in nothing but in name 1 
To the attendants. 

Why did you let this horrible deed be 
done ? 

Why did you not lay hold on her, and 
keep her 

From self-destruction ? Angelo! mur- 
derer ! 

Struggles at the door, but cannot open 
it 

elsie, within. 
Farewell, dear Prince ! farewell ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Unbar the door ! 

LUCIFER. 

It is too late ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

It shall not be too late! 
They burst the door open and rush in. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



603 



THE FARM-HOUSE IN THE ODEN- 
WALD 

Ursula spinning. A summer after- 
noon. A table spread. 

URSULA. 

I have marked it well, — it must be 

true, — 271 

Death never takes one alone, but two! 
Whenever he enters in at a door, 
Under roof of gold or roof of thatch, 
He always leaves it upon the latch, 
And comes again ere the year is o'er. 
Never one of a household only ! 
Perhaps it is a mercy of God, 
Lest the dead there under the sod, 
In the land of strangers, should be 

lonely ! 280 

Ah me ! I think I am lonelier here ! 
It is hard to go, — but harder to stay ! 
Were it not for the children, I should 

pray 
That Death would take me within the 

year! 
And Gottlieb ! — he is at work all day, 
In the sunny field, or the forest murk, 
But I know that his thoughts are far 

away, 



I know that his heart is not in his 

work! 
And when he comes home to me at 

night . 289 

He is not cheery, but sits and sighs, 
And I see the great tears in his 

eyes, 
And try to be cheerful for his sake. 
Only the children's hearts are light. 
Mine is weary, and ready to break. 
God help us! I hope we have done 

right ; 
We thought we were acting for the 

best! 

Looking through the open door. 

Who is it coming under the trees? 
A man, in the Prince's livery dressed ! 
He looks about him with doubtful 

face, 
As if uncertain of the place. 300 

He stops at the beehives; — now he 

sees 
The garden gate ; — he is going past ! 
Can he be afraid of the bees? 
No : he is coming in at last ! 
He fills my heart with strange alarm 5 

Enter a Forester. 




Lucifer and Elsie 



604 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



FORESTER. 

Is this the tenant Gottlieb's farm ? 

URSULA. 

This is his farm, and I his wife. 
Pray sit. What may your business 
be! 

FORESTER. 

News from the Prince ! 

URSULA. 

Of death or life? 

FORESTER. 

You put your questions eagerly ! 310 

URSULA. 

Answer me, then! How is the 
Prince ? 

FORESTER. 

I left him only two hours since 
Homeward returning down the river, 
As strong and well as if God, the 

Giver, 
Had given him back his youth again. 



URSULA, 

Then Elsie, my poor child, is dead ! 

FORESTER. 

That, my good woman, I have not 

said. 
Don't cross the bridge till you come to 

it, 
Is a proverb old, and of excellent wit. 

URSULA 

Keep me no longer in this pain ! 320 

FORESTER. 

It is true your daughter is no 

more ; — 
That is, the peasant she was before. 

URSULA. 

Alas! I am simple and lowly bred, 
I am poor, distracted, and forlorn. 
And it is not well that you of the 

court 
Should mock me thus, and make a 

sport 
Of a joyless mother whose child is 

dead, 
For you, too, were of mother born ! 



FORESTER. 

Your daughter lives, and the Prince is 
well! 

You will learn erelong how it all be- 
fell. 330 

Her heart for a moment never failed ; 

But when they reached Salerno's gate, 

The Prince's nobler self prevailed, 

And saved her for a noble fate. 

And he was healed, in his despair, 

By the touch of St. Matthew's sacred 
bones ; 

Though I think the long ride in the 
open air, 

That pilgrimage over stocks and 
stones, 

In the miracle must come in for a 
share ! 

URSULA. 

Virgin ! who lovest the poor and 
lowly, 340 

If the loud cry of a mother's heart 
Can ever ascend to where thou art, 
Into thy blessed hands and holy 
Receive my prayer of praise and 

thanksgiving ! 
Let the hands that bore our Saviour 

bear it 
Into the awful presence of God ; 
For thy feet with holiness are shod, 
And if thou bearest it He will hear 

it. 
Our child who was dead again is liv- 
ing ! 

FORESTER. 

I did not tell you she was dead ; 350 
If you thought so 't was no fault of 

mine ; 
At this very moment, while I speak, 
They are sailing homeward down the 

Rhine, 
In a splendid barge, with golden prow, 
And decked with banners white and 

red 
As the colors on your daughter's 

cheek. 
They call her the Lady Alicia now ; 
For the Prince in Salerno made a 

vow 
That Elsie only would he wed. 

URSULA. 

Jesu Maria ! what a change ! 360 

All seems to me so weird and strange ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



605 




" Is this the tenant Gottlieb's farm ? 



FORESTER. 

I saw her standing on the deck, 
Beneath an awning cool and shady ; 
Her cap of velvet could not hold 
The tresses of her hair of gold, 
That flowed and floated like the 

stream, 
And fell in masses down her neck. 
As fair and lovely did she seem 
As in a story or a dream 
Some beautiful and foreign lady. 370 
And the Prince looked so grand and 

proud, 
And waved his hand thus to the 

crowd 
That gazed and shouted from the 

shore, 
All down the river, long and loud. 

URSULA. 

We shall behold our child once more ; 
She is not dead ! She is not dead ! 
God, listening, must have overheard 
The prayers, that, without sound or 
word, 



Our hearts in secrecy have said ! 379 
Oh, bring me to her ; for mine eyes 
Are hungry to behold her face ; 
My very soul within me cries ; 
My very hands seem to caress her, 
To see her, gaze at her, and bless her; 
Dear Elsie, child of God and grace ! 

Goes out toward the garden. 



FORESTER. 

There goes the good woman out of 

her head ; 
And Gottlieb's supper is waiting here; 
A very capacious flagon of beer, 
And a very portentous loaf of bread. 
One would say his grief did not much 

oppress him. 390 

Here's to the health of the Prince, 

God bless him ! 

He drinks. 

Ha! it buzzes and stings like a hornet ! 
And what a scene there, through the 
door! 



6o6 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 






The forest behind and the garden be- 
*fore, 

And midway an old man of three- 
score, 

With a wife and children that caress 
him. 

Let me try still further to cheer and 
adorn it 

With a merry, echoing blast of my 
cornet ! 

out Mowing his horn. 



THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON 
THE RHINE 

Prince Henry and Elsie standing 
on the terrace at evening. 

The sound of bells heard from a distance. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

We are alone. The wedding guests 
Ride down the hill, with plumes and 
cloaks, 400 

And the descending dark invests 
The Niederwald, and all the nests 
Among its hoar and haunted oaks. 

ELSIE. 

What bells are those, that ring so 

slow, 
So mellow, musical, and low ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

They are the bells of Geisenheim, 
That with their melancholy chime 
Ring out the curfew of the sun. 



Listen, beloved. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

They are done! 
Dear Elsie ! many years ago 41c 

Those same soft bells at eventide 
Rang in the ears of Charlemagne, 
As, seated by Fastrada's side 
At Ingelheim, in all his pride 
He heard their sound with secret pain. 

ELSIE. 

Their voices only speak to me 
Of peace and deep tranquillity, 
And endless confidence in thee\ 



PRINCE HENRY. 

Thou knowest the story of her ring, 
How, when the court went back to 

Aix, 420 

Fastrada died ; and how the king 
Sat watching by her night and day, 
Till into one of the blue lakes, 
Which water that delicious land, 
They cast the ring, drawn from her 

hand: 
And the great monarch sat serene 
And sad beside the fated shore, 
Nor left the land forevermore. 

ELSIE. 

That was true love. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

For him the queen 
Ne'er did what thou hast done for 



ELSIE. 

Wilt thou as fond and faithful be ? 
Wilt thou so love me after death ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

In life's delight, in death's dismay, 
In storm and sunshine, night and day, 
In health, in sickness, in decay, 
Here and hereafter, I am thine ! 
Thou hast Fastrada's ring. Beneath 
The calm, blue waters of thine eyes, 
Deep in thy steadfast soul it lies, 
And, undisturbed by this world's 
breath, 440 

With magic light its jewels shine ! 
This golden ring, which thou hast worn 
Upon thy finger since the morn, 
Is but a symbol and a semblance, 
An outward fashion, a remembrance, 
Of what thou wearest within unseen- 
O my Fastrada, O my queen ! 
Behold ! the hill-tops all aglow 
With purple and with amethyst ; 
While the whole valley deep below 45*0 
Is filled, and seems to overflow, 
With a fast-rising tide of mist. 
The evening air grows damp and chill ; 
Let us go in. 

ELSIE. 

Ah, not so soon. 
See yonder fire ! It is the moon 
Slow rising o'er the eastern hill. 
It glimmers on the forest tips, 
And through the dewy foliage drips 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



607 



In little rivulets of light, 
And makes the heart in love with 
night. 460 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Oft on this terrace, when the day 
Was closing, have I stood and gazed, 
And seen the landscape fade away, 
And the white vapors rise and drown 
Hamlet and vineyard, tower and town, 
While far above the hill-tops blazed. 
But then another hand than thine 
Was gently held and clasped in mine ; 
Another head upon my breast 
Was laid, as thine is now, at rest. 470 
Why dost thou lift those tender eyes 
With so much sorrow and surprise ? 
A minstrel's, not a maiden's hand, 
Was that which in my own was 

pressed. 
A manly form usurped thy place, 
A beautiful, but bearded face, 
That now is in the Holy Land, 
Yet in my memory from afar 
Is shining on us like a star. 
But linger not. For while I speak, 480 
A sheeted spectre white and tall, 
The cold mist climbs the castle wall, 
And lays his hand upon thy cheek ! 
They go in. 



EPILOGUE 

THE TWO RECORDING ANGELS 
ASCENDING 

THE ANGEL OF GOOD DEEDS, With dosed 

book. 
God sent his messenger the rain, 
And said unto the mountain brook, 
" Rise up, and from thy caverns look 



And leap, with naked, snow-white 

feet, 
From the cool hills into the heat 
Of the broad, arid plain." 




The Recording Angels 



6o8 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



God sent his messenger of faith, 
And whispered in the maiden's heart, 
" Rise up, and look from where thou 

art, 
And scatter with unselfish hands 10 
Thy freshness on the barren sands 
And solitudes of Death." 

O beauty of holiness, 

Of self-forgetf ulness, of lowliness ! 

O power of meekness, 

Whose very gentleness and weakness 

Are like the yielding, but irresistible 

air! 
Upon the pages 

Of the sealed volume that I bear, 
The deed divine 20 

Is written in characters of gold, 
That never shall grow old, 
But through all ages 
Burn and shine, 
With soft effulgence ! 
O God! it is thy indulgence 
That fills the world with the bliss 
Of a good deed like this ! 

THE ANGEL OP EVIL DEEDS, With Open 

book. 
Not yet, not yet 

Is the red sun wholly set, 30 

But evermore recedes, 
While open still I bear 
The Book of Evil Deeds, 
To let the breathings of the upper 

air 
Visit its pages and erase 
The records from its face ! 
Fainter and fainter as I gaze 
In the broad blaze 
The glimmering landscape shines, 
And below me the black river 40 

Is hidden by wreaths of vapor ! 
Fainter and" fainter the black lines 
Begin to quiver 
Along the whitening surface of the 

paper ; 
Shade after shade 
The terrible words grow faint and 

fade, 
And in their place 
Runs a white space ! 



Down goes the sun ! 
But the soul of one, 
Who by repentance 
Hath escaped the dreadful sentence, 



So 



Shines bright below me as I look. 
It is the end ! 
With closed Book 
To God do I ascend. 
Lo ! over the mountain steeps 
A dark, gigantic shadow sweeps 
Beneath my feet ; 

A blackness inwardly brightening 60 
With sullen heat, 

As a storm-cloud lurid with lightning. 
And a cry of lamentation, 
Repeated and again repeated, 
Deep and loud 
As the reverberation 
Of cloud answering unto cloud, 
Swells and rolls away in the distance, 
As if the sheeted 

Lightning retreated, 70 

Baffled and thwarted by the wind's 
resistance. 

It is Lucifer, 

The son of mystery ; 

And since God suffers him to be, 

He, too, is God's minister, 

And labors for some good 

By us not understood ! 



SECOND INTERLUDE 
MARTIN LUTHER 

A CHAMBER IN THE WARTBURG. 
MORNING. MARTIN LUTHER 
WRITING 

MARTIN LUTHER. 

Our God, a Tower of Strength is He, 
A goodly wall and weapon ; 
From all our need He helps us free, 
That now to us doth happen. 

The old evil foe 

Doth in earnest grow, 

In grim armor dight, 

Much guile and great might; 
On earth there is none like him. 

Oh yes ; a tower of strength indeed, 10 
A present help in all our need, 
A sword and buckler is our God. 
Innocent men have walked unshod 
O'er burning ploughshares, and have 

trod 
Unharmed on serpents in their path, 
And laughed to scorn the Devil's 

■wrath ! 



MARTIN LUTHER 



609 




, yes, safe am I here at last ' 



Safe in this Wartburg tower I stand 
Where God hath led me by the hand, 
And look down, with a heart at ease, 
Over the pleasant neighborhoods, 20 
Over the vast Thuringian Woods, 
With flash of river, and gloom of 

trees, 
With castles crowning the dizzy 

heights, 
And farms and pastoral delights, 
And the morning pouring everywhere 
Its golden glory on the air. 
Safe, yes, safe am I here at last, 
Safe from the overwhelming blast 
Of the mouths of Hell, that followed 

me fast, 
And the howling demons of despair 30 
That hunted me like a beast to his 

lair. 

Of our own might we nothing can ; 
We soon are unprotected; 
There fighteth for us the right Man, 
Whom God himself elected. 

Who is He; ve exclaim? 

Christus is his name, 

Lord of Sabaoth, 

Very God in troth; 
The field He holds forever. 40 



Nothing can vex the Devil more 
Than the name of Him whom we 

adore. 
Therefore doth it delight me best 
To stand in the choir among the rest, 
With the great organ trumpeting 
Through its metallic tubes, and sing : 
Et verbum caro factum est ! 
These words the Devil cannot endure, 
For he knoweth their meaning well ! 
Him they trouble and repel, 50 

Us they comfort and allure. 
And happy it were, if our delight 
Were as great as his affright ! 

Yea, music is the Prophets' art ; 
Among the gifts that God hath sent, 
One of the most magnificent ! 
It calms the agitated heart ; 
Temptations, evil thoughts, and all 
The passions that disturb the soul, 
Are quelled by its divine control, 60 
As the Evil Spirit fled from Saul, 
And his distemper was allayed, 
When David took his harp and played. 

This world may full of Devils be, 
All ready to devour us; 



6io 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Yet not so sore afraid are we, 
They shall not overpower us. 

This World's Prince, howe'er 

Fierce he may appear, 

He can harm us not, 70 

He is doomed, God wot! 
One little word can slay him ! 

[ncredible it seems to some 
And to myself a mystery. 
That such weak flesh and blood as we, 
Armed with no other shield or sword, 
Or other weapon than the Word, 
Should combat and should overcome 
A spirit powerful as he ! 79 

He summons forth the Pope of Rome 
With all his diabolic crew, 
His shorn and shaven retinue 
Of priests and children of the dark ; 
Kill! kill! they cry, the Heresiarch, 
Who rouseth up all Christendom 
Against us; and at one fell blow 
Seeks the whole Church to overthrow ! 
Not yet ; my hour is not yet come. 

Yesterday in an idle mood, 

Hunting with others in the wood, 90 

I did not pass the hours in vain, 

For in the very heart of all 

The joyous tumult raised around, 

Shouting of men, and baying of 

hound, 
And the bugle's blithe and cheery call, 
And echoes answering back again, 
From crags of the distant mountain 

chain, — 
In the very heart of this, I found 
A mystery of grief and pain. 
It was an image of the power 100 

Of Satan, hunting the world about, 
With his nets and traps and well- 
trained dogs, 
His bishops and priests and theo- 

logues, 
And all the rest of the rabble rout, 
Seeking whom he may devour ! 
Enough I have had of hunting hares, 
Enough of these hours of idle mirth, 
Enough of nets and traps and gins ! 
The only hunting of any worth 
Is where I can pierce with javelins no 
The cunning foxes and wolves and 

bears, 
The whole iniquitous troop of beasts, 
The Roman Pope and the Roman 

priests 
That sorely infest and afllict the earth I 



Ye nuns, ye singing birds of the air! 
The fowler hath caught you in his 

snare, 
And keeps you safe in his gilded cage, 
Singing the song that never tires, 
To lure down others from their nests; 
How ye flutter and beat your breasts, 
Warm and soft with young desires 
Against the cruel, pitiless wires, 122 
Reclaiming your lost heritage ! 
Behold! a hand unbars the door, 
Ye shall be captives held no more. 

The Word they shall perforce let stand, 
And little thanks they merit! 
For He is with us in the land, 
With gifts of his own Spirit! 

Though the}' take our life, 130 

Goods, honors, child and wife, 

Let these pass away, 

Little gain have they; 
The Kingdom still remaineth ! 

Yea, it remaineth f orevermore, 
However Satan may rage and roar, 
Though often he whispers in my ears: 
What if thy doctrines false should be 1 
And wrings from me a bitter sweat 
Then I put him to flight with jeers, 14c 
Saying : Saint Satan ! pray for me ; 
If thou thinkest I am not saved yet ! 

And my mortal foes that lie in wait 
In every avenue and gate ! 
As to that odious monk John Tetzel, 
Hawking about his hollow wares 
Like a huckster at village fairs, 
And those mischievous fellows, Wet- 
zel, 
Campanus, Carlstadt, Martin Cella- 

rius, 
And all the busy, multifarious 150 
Heretics, and disciples of Arius, 
Half -learned, dunce -bold, dry and 

hard, 
They are not worthy of my regard, 
Poor and humble as I am. 

But ah ! Erasmus of Rotterdam, 
He is the vilest miscreant 
That ever walked this world below ! 
A Momus, making his mock and mow, 
At Papist and at Protestant, 
Sneering at St. John and St. Paul, 16a 
At God and Man, at one and all ; 
And yet as hollow and false and drear, 
As a cracked pitcher to the ear, 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



611 



And ever growing worse and worse ! 
Whenever I pray, I pray for a curse 
On Erasmus, the Insincere ! 

Philip Melancthon ! thou alone 

Faithful among the faithless known, 

Thee I hail, and only thee ! 

Behold the record of us three ! 170 

Res et xerba Philippus, 

Res sine verbis Lutherus; 

Erasmus verba sine re ! 

My Philip, prayest thou for me ? 
Lifted above all earthly care, 
From these high regions of the air, 
Among the birds that day and night 
Upon the branches of tall trees 
Sing their lauds and litanies, 
Praising God with all their might, 180 
My Philip, unto thee I write. 

My Philip ! thou who knowest best 

All that is passing in this breast ; 

The spiritual agonies, 

The inward deaths, the inward hell, 

And the divine new births as well, 

That surely follow after these, 

As after winter follows spring ; 

My Philip, in the night-time sing 189 

This song of the Lord I send to thee ; 

And I will sing it for thy sake, 

Until our answering voices make 

A glorious antiphony, 

And choral chant of victory ! 



PART THREE 

THE NEW ENGLAND TEA- 
GEDIES 

JOHN ENDICOTT 

DRAMATIS PERSONS 

John Endicott . . . Governor. 

John Endicott . . . His son. 

Richabd Bellingham . Deputy Governor. 

John Norton .... Minister of the Gospel. 

Edward Butter . . . Treasurer. 

Walter Merry . . . Tithing-man. 

Nicholas Upsall . . An old citizen. 

Samuel Cole .... Landlord of the Three 

Mariners 
Simon Kempthorn | 
Ralph Goldsmith ) 
Wenlock Christison 

Edith, his daughter \ . Quakers. 
Edward Wharton 



Sea-Captains. 



Assistants, Halberdiers, Marshal, etc. 
The Scene is in Boston in the year 1665. 



PROLOGUE 

To-night we strive to read, as we may 
best, 

This city, like an ancient palimpsest ; 

And bring to light, upon the blotted 
page, 

The mournful record of an earlier age, 

That, pale and half effaced, lies hid- 
den away 

Beneath the fresher writing of to-day. 

Rise, then, O buried city that hast been ; 

Rise up, rebuilded in the painted 
scene, 

And let our curious eyes behold once 
more 

The pointed gable and the pent-house 
door, 10 

The Meeting L house with leaden-lat- 
ticed panes, 

The narrow thoroughfares, the 
crooked lanes ! 

Rise, too, ye shapes and shadows of 
the Past, 

Rise from your long-forgotten graves 
at last : 

Let us behold your faces, let us hear 

The words ye uttered in those days of 
fear ! ' 

Revisit your familiar haunts again, — 

The scenes of triumph, and the scenes 
of pain, 

And leave the footprints of your bleed- 
ing feet 

Once more upon the pavement of the 
street ! 2 « 

Nor let the Historian blame the Poet 

here, 
If he perchance misdate the day or 

year, 
And group events together, by his art, 
That in the Chronicles lie far apart ; 
For as the double stars, though sun- 
dered far, 
Seem to the naked eye a single star, 
So facts of. history, at a distance seen, 
Into one common point of light con- 
vene. 

"Why touch upon such themes?" 

perhaps some friend 
May ask, incredulous; "and to what 

good end ? 30 



6l2 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Why drag again into the light of day 
The errors of an age long passed 

away ? " 
I answer : "For the lesson that they 

teach : 
The tolerance of opinion and of speech. 
Hope, Faith, and Charity remain, — 

these three ; 
And greatest of them all is Charity." 

Let us remember, if these words be true, 
That unto all men Charity is due ; 
Give what we ask; and pity, while 

we blame, 
Lest we become copartners in the 

shame, 4 o 

Lest we condemn, and yet ourselves 

partake, 
And persecute the dead for conscience' 



Therefore it is the author seeks and 

strives 
To represent the dead as in their lives, 
And lets at times his characters unfold 
Their thoughts in their own language, 

strong and bold ; 
He only asks of you to do the like ; 
To hear him first, and, if you will, 

then strike. 

ACT I 

Scene I. — Sunday afternoon. The 
interior of the Meeting-house. On the 
pulpit, an hour-glass; below, a box 
for contributions. John Norton in 
the pulpit. Governor Endicott 
in a canopied seat, attended by four 
halberdiers. The congregation sing- 
ing. 

The Lord descended from above, 
And bowed the heavens high; 

And underneath his feet He cast 
The darkness of the sky. 

On Cherubim and Seraphim 

Right royally He rode, 
And on the wings of mighty winds 
• Came flying all abroad. 

Norton {rising and turning the hour- 
glass on the pulpit). 
I heard a great voice from the temple 

saying 
Unto the Seven Angels, Go your 

ways ; 10 



Pour out the vials of the wrath of 
God 

Upon the earth. And the First Angel 
went 

And poured his vial on the earth ; and 
straight 

There fell a noisome and a grievous 
sore 

On them which had the birth-mark of 
the Beast, 

And them which worshipped and 
adored his image. 

On us hath fallen this grievous pesti- 
lence. 

There is a sense of terror in the air ; 

And apparitions of things horrible 

Are seen by many. From the sky 
above us 20 

The stars fall ; and beneath us the 
earth quakes ! 

The sound of drums at midnight from 
afar, 

The sound of horsemen riding to and 
fro, 

As if the gates of the invisible world 

Were opened, and the dead came forth 
to warn us, — 

All these are omens of some dire dis- 
aster 

Impending over us, and soon to fall. 

Moreover, in the language of the Pro- 
phet, 

Death is again come up into our win- 
dows, 

To cut off little children from with- 
, out, 30 

And young men from the streets. And 
in the midst 

Of all these supernatural threats and 
warnings 

Doth Heresy uplift its horrid head ; 

A vision of Sin more awful and ap- 
palling 

Than any phantasm, ghost, or appari- 
tion, 

As arguing and portending some en- 
largement 

Of the mysterious Power of Dark- 
ness! 

Edith, barefooted, and clad in sack- 
cloth, with her hair hanging loose 
upon her shoulders, walks slowly up 
the aisle, followed by Wharton and 
other Quakers. The congregation 
starts up in confusion. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



613 



edith {to Norton, raising her hand). 

Peace ! 

NORTON. 

Anathema maranatha ! The Lord 
cometh ! 

EDITH. 

Yea, verily He cometh, and shall 

judge 
The shepherds of Israel who do feed 

themselves, 40 

And leave their flocks to eat what 

they have trodden 
Beneath their feet. 

NORTON. 

Be silent, babbling woman ! 
St. Paul commands all women to keep 

silence 
Within the churches. 

EDITH. 

Yet the women prayed 
And prophesied at Corinth in his day ; 
And, among those on whom the fiery 

tongues 
Of Pentecost descended, some were 

women ! 

NORTON. 

The Elders of the Churches, by our 
law, 

Alone have power to open the doors 
of speech 

And silence in the Assembly. I com- 
mand you ! 50 

EDITH. 

The law of God is greater than your 
laws! 

Ye build your church with blood, 
your town with crime ; 

The heads thereof give judgment for 
reward ; 

The priests thereof teach only for their 
hire ; 

Your laws condemn the innocent to 
death ; 

And against this I bear my testi- 
mony ! 

NORTON. 

"What testimony ? 

EDITH. 

That of the Holy Spirit, 
Which, as your Calvin says, surpasseth 
reason. 



NORTON. 

The laborer is worthy of his hire. 

EDITH. 

Yet our great Master did not teach for 
hire, 60 

And the Apostles without purse or 
scrip 




'■ Peace ! '" 

Went forth to^o his work. Behold 

this box ' 
Beneath thy pulpit. Is it for the 

poor? 
Thou canst not answer. It is for the 

Priest ; 
And against this I bear my testimony. 

NORTON. 

Away with all these Heretics and 
Quakers ! 



614 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Quakers, forsooth ! Because a quak- 
ing fell 

On Daniel, at beholding of the Vision, 

Must ye needs shake and quake? Be- 
cause Isaiah 

Went stripped and barefoot, must ye 
wail and howl? 7 o 

Must ye go stripped and naked? must 
ye make 

A wailing like the dragons, and a 
mourning 

As of the owls ? Ye verify the adage 

That Satan is God's ape ! Away with 
them! 

Tumult. Tlie Quakers are driven out 
with violence, Tt-DiTHifottowing slowly. 
The congregation retires in confu- 
sion. 

Thus freely do the Reprobates commit 

Such measure of iniquity as fits them 

For the intended measure of God's 
wrath, 

And even in violating God's com- 
mands 

Are they fulfilling the divine decree ! 

The will of man is but an instru- 
ment 80 

Disposed and predetermined to its ac- 
tion 

According unto the decree of God, 

Being as much subordinate thereto 

As is the axe unto the hewer's hand ! 

He descends from the pulpit, and joins 
Governor Endicott, who comes 
forward to meet him. 

The omens and the wonders of the 
time, 

Famine, and fire, and shipwreck, and 
disease, 

The blast of corn, the death of our 
young men, 

Our sufferings in all precious, pleasant 
things, 

Are manifestations of the wrath di- 
vine, 

Signs of God's controversy with New 
England. 90 

These emissaries of the Evil One, 

These servants and ambassadors of 
Satan, 

Are but commissioned executioners 

Of God's vindictive and deserved dis- 
pleasure. 

We must receive them as the Roman 
Bishop 



Once received Attila, saying, I re- 
joice 

You have come safe, whom I esteem 
to be 

The scourge of God, sent to chastise 
his people. 

This very heresy, perchance, may 
serve 

The purposes of God to some good 
end. 100 

With you I leave it ; but do not neg- 
lect 

The holy tactics of the civil sword. 

ENDICOTT. 

And what more can be done ? 

NORTON. 

The hand that cut 

The Red Cross from the colors of the 
king 

Can cut the red heart from this heresy. 

Fear not. All blasphemies immedi- 
ate 

And heresies turbulent must be sup- 



By civil power. 

ENDICOTT. 

But in what way suppressed ? 

NORTON. 

The Book of Deuteronomy declares 
That if thy son, thy daughter, or thy 

wife, no 

Ay, or the friend which is as thine 

own soul, 
Entice thee secretly, and say to thee, 
Let us serve other gods, then shall 

thine eye • 

Not pity him, but thou shalt surely 

kill him, 
And thine own hand shall be the first 

upon him 
To slay him. 

ENDICOTT. 

Four already have been slain ; 

And others banished upon pain of 
death. 

But they come back again to meet 
their doom, 

Bringing the linen for their winding- 
sheets. 

We must not go too far. In truth, I 
shrink 120 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



6i5 



From shedding of more blood. 

people murmur 
At our severity. 



The 



NORTON. 

Then let them murmur ! 
Truth is relentless; justice never 

wavers ; 
The greatest firmness is the greatest 

mercy ; 
The noble order of the Magistracy 
Cometh immediately from God, and 

yet 
This noble order of the Magistracy 
Is by these Heretics despised and out- 
raged. 

ENDICOTT. 

To night they sleep in prison. If they 

die, 
They cannot say that we have caused 

their death. 130 

We do but guard the passage, with 

the sword 



Pointed towards them ; if they dash 

upon it, 
Their blood will be on their own 

heads, not ours. 

NORTON. 

Enough. I ask no more. My prede- 
cessor 
Coped only with the milder heresies 
Of Antinomians and of Anabaptists. 
He was not born to wrestle with these 

fiends. 
Chrysostom in his pulpit ; Augustine 
In disputation ; Timothy in his house ! 
The lantern of St. Botolph's ceased 
to burn 140 

When from the portals of that church 

he came 
To be a burning and a shining light 
Here in the wilderness. And, as he lay 
On his death-bed, he saw me in a 

vision 
Ride on a snow-white horse into this 
town. 




The greatest firmness is the greatest mercy " 



6i6 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



His vision was prophetic; thus I 

came, 
A terror to the impenitent, and Death 
On the pale horse of the Apocalypse 
To all the accursed race of Heretics ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. — A street. On one side, 
Nicholas Upsall's house; on the 
other, Walter Merry's, with a 
flock of pigeons on the roof. Upsall 
seated in the porch of his house. 

UPSALL. 

day of rest ! How beautiful, how 

fair, 

How welcome to the weary and the 
old! 

Day of the Lord ! and truce to earthly 
cares ! 

Day of the Lord, as all our days should 
be! 

Ah, why will man by his austerities 

Shut out the blessed sunshine and the 
light, 

And naake of thee a dungeon of de- 
spair ! 

Walter merry {entering and looking 
round him). 

All silent as a graveyard ! No one 
stirring ; 

No footfall in the street, no sound of 
voices ! 

By righteous punishment and perse- 
verance, IO 

And perseverance in that punishment, 

At last I have brought this contuma- 
cious town 

To strict observance of the Sabbath 
day. 

Those wanton gospellers, the pigeons 
yonder, 

Are now the only Sabbath-breakers 
left. 

1 cannot put them down. As if to 

taunt me, 
They gather every Sabbath afternoon 
In noisy congregation on my roof, 
Billing and cooing. Whir ! take that, 

ye Quakers. 19 

Throws a stone at the pigeons. Sees 

Upsall. 
Ah ! Master Nicholas ! 



upsall. 

Good afternoon, 
Dear neighbor Walter. 

MERRY. 

Master Nicholas, 
You have to-day withdrawn yourself 
from meeting. 

UPSALL. 

Yea, I have chosen rather to worship 

God 
Sitting in silence here at my own 

door. 

MERRY. 

Worship the Devil! You this day 

have broken 
Three of our strictest laws. First, by 

abstaining 
From public worship. Secondly, by 

walking 
Profanely on the Sabbath. 

UPSALL. 

Not one step. 
I have been sitting still here, seeing 

the pigeons 
Feed in the street and fly about the 

roofs. 30 

MERRY. 

You have been in the street with 
other intent 

Than going to and from the Meeting- 
house. 

And, thirdly, you are harboring 
Quakers here. 

I am amazed ! 

UPSALL. 

Men sometimes, it is said, 
Entertain angels unawares. 

MERRY. 

Nice angels! 
Angels in broad-brimmed hats and 

russet cloaks, 
The color of the Devil's nutting-bag ! 

They came 
Into the Meeting-house this afternoon 
More in the shape of devils than of 

angels. 
The women screamed and fainted ; 

and the boys 40 

Made such an uproar in the gallery 
I could not keep them quiet. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



617 



UPSALL. 

Neighbor Walter, 
Your persecution is of no avail. 

MERRY. 

'T is prosecution, as the Governor 

says, 
Not persecution. 

UPSALL. 

Well, your prosecution; 
Your hangings do no good. 

MERRY. 

The reason is, 
We do not hang enough. But, mark 

my words, 
We '11 scour them ; yea, I warrant ye, 

we '11 scour them ! 
And now go in and entertain your 

angels, 
And don't he seen here in the street 
again 50 

Till after sundown ! — There they are 

again ! 
Exit Upsall. Merry throws another 
stone at the pigeons, and then goes 
into his house. 

Scene III. — A room in Upsali/s 
house. Night. Edith, Wharton, 
and other Quakers seated at a table. 
Upsall seated near them. Several 
books on the table. 

WHARTON. 

William and Marmaduke, our mar- 
tyred brothers, 

Sleep in untimely graves, if aught un- 
timely 

Can find place in the providence of 
God, 

Where nothing comes too early or too 
late. 

I saw their noble death. They to the 
scaffold 

Walked hand in hand. Two hundred 
armed men 

And many horsemen guarded them, 
for fear 

Of rescue by the crowd, whose hearts 
were stirred. 

EDITH. 

holy martyrs ! 



WHARTON. 

When they tried to speak, 
Their voices by the roll of drums were 

drowned. 10 

When they were dead they still looked 

fresh and fair, 
The terror of death was not upon their 

faces. 
Our sister Mary, likewise, the meek 

woman, 
Has passed through martyrdom to her 

reward ; 
Exclaiming, as they led her to her 

death, 
"These many days I 've been in Para- 
dise." 
And, when she died, Priest Wilson 

threw the hangman 
His handkerchief, to cover the pale 

face 
He dared not look upon. 

EDITH. 

As persecuted, 

Yet not forsaken ; as unknown, yet 
known ; 20 

As dying, and behold we are alive ; 

As sorrowful, and yet rejoicing al- 
ways ; 

As having nothing, yet possessing 
all! 

WHARTON. 

And Leddra, too, is dead. But from 
his prison, 

The day before his death, he sent these 
words 

Unto the little flock of Christ : ' ' What- 
ever 

May come upon the followers of the 
Light, — 

Distress, affliction, famine, nakedness, 

Or perils in the city or the sea, 

Or persecution, or even death it- 
self, — 30 

I am persuaded that God's armor of 
Light, 

As it is loved and lived in, will pre- 
serve you. 

Yea, death itself ; through which you 
will find entrance 

Into the pleasant pastures of the fold 

Where you shall feed forever as the 
herds 

That roam at large in the low valleys 
of Achor. 



6i8 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



And as the flowing of the ocean fills 
Each creek and branch thereof, and 

then retires, 
Leaving behind a sweet and whole- 
some savor; 
So doth the virtue and the life of 

God 4 o 

Flow evermore into the hearts of 

those 
Whom he hath made partakers of his 

nature ; 
And, when it but withdraws itself a 

little, 
Leaves a sweet savor after it, that 

many 
Can say they are made clean by every 

word 
That He hath spoken to them in their 

silence." 

edith {rising and breaking into a kind 
of chant). 

Truly we do but grope here in the 

dark, 
Near the partition-wall of Life and 

Death, 
At every moment dreading or desiring 
To lay our hands upon the unseen 

door ! 50 

Let us, then, labor for an inward still- 
ness, — 
An inward stillness and an inward 

healing ; 
That perfect silence where the lips 

and heart 
Are still, and we no longer entertain 
Our own imperfect thoughts and vain 

opinions, 
But God alone speaks in us, and we 

wait 
In singleness of heart, that we may 

know 
His will, and in the silence of our 

spirits, 
That we may do His will, and do that 

only ! 59 

A long pause, interrupted by the sound 

of a drum approaching; then shouts 

in the street, and a loud knocking at 

the door. 

MARSHAL. 

Within there ! Open the door ! 

MERRY. 

Will no one answer ? 



MARSHAL. 

In the King's name ! Within there ! 

MERRY. 

Open the door ! 

upsall {from the window). 
It is not barred. Come in. Nothing 

prevents you. 
The poor man's door is ever on the 

latch. 
He needs no bolt nor bar to shut out 

thieves ; 
He fears no enemies, and has no 

friends 
Importunate enough to need a key. 
Enter John Endicott, the Marshal, 
Merry, and a croiod. Seeing the 
Quakers silent and unmoved, they 
pause, awe-struck. Endicott oppo- 
site Edith. 

marshal. 
In the King's name do I arrest you 

all! 
Away with them to prison. Master 

Upsall, 
You are again discovered harboring 

here 
These ranters and disturbers of the 

peace. 70 

You know the law. 

UPSALL. 

I know it, and am ready 
To suffer yet again its penalties. 

EDITH {to ENDICOTT). 

Why dost thou persecute me, Saul of 
Tarsus ? 

ACT II 

Scene I. — John Endicott's room. 



JOHN ENDICOTT. 

' ' Why dost thou persecute me, Saul of 
Tarsus ? " 

All night these words were ringing in 
mine ears ! 

A sorrowful sweet face; a look that 
pierced me 

With meek reproach ; a voice of res- 
ignation 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



619 



That had a life of suffering in its tone ; 

And that was all ! And yet I could 
not sleep, 

Or, when I slept, I dreamed that aw- 
ful dream ! 

I stood beneath the elm-tree on the 
Common 

On which the Quakers have been 
hanged, and heard 

A voice, not hers, that cried amid the 
darkness, 10 

' ' This is Aceldama, the field of blood ! 

I will have mercy, and not sacrifice ! " 

Opens the window, and looks out. 

The sun is up already ; and my heart 
Sickens and sinks within me when I 

think 
How may tragedies will be enacted 
Before his setting. As the earth rolls 

round, 
It seems to me a huge Ixion's wheel, 
Upon whose whirling spokes we are 

bound fast, 
And. must go with it ! Ah, how bright 

the sun 
Strikes on the sea and on the masts 

of vessels, 20 



That are uplifted in the morning 
air, 

Like crosses of some peaceable cru- 
sade ! 

It makes me long to sail for lands un- 
known, 

No matter whither! Under me, in 
shadow, 

Gloomy and narrow lies the little 
town, 

Still sleeping, but to wake and toil 
awhile, 

Then sleep again. How dismal looks 
the prison, 

How grim and sombre in the sunless 
street, — 

The prison where she sleeps, or wakes 
and waits 

For what I dare not think of, — death, 
perhaps ! 30 

A word that has been said may be un- 
said : 

It is but air. But when a deed is 
done 

It cannot be undone, nor can our 
thoughts 

Reach out to all the mischiefs that 
may follow. 



J" 

- . ~ f fife, ^ "'ii^jii 




. i 1 ft. 

- - m ,r 









Dock Square 



62< 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



'T is time for morning prayers. I will 
go down. 

My father, though severe, is kind and 
just; 

And when his heart is tender with de- 
votion, — 

When from his lips have fallen the 
words, "Forgive us 

As we forgive," — then will I inter- 
cede 

For these poor people, and perhaps 

may save them. 4 o 

[Exit. 

Scene II. — Dock Square. On one side, 
the tavern of the Three Mariners. 
In the background, a quaint build- 
ing with gables; and, beyond it, 
wharves and shipping. Captain 
Kempthorn and others seated at a 
table before the door. Samuel Cole 
standing near them. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Come, drink about ! Remember Par- 
son Melham, 

And bless the man who first invented 
flip! 

They drink. 

COLE. 

Pray, Master Kempthorn, where were 
you last night ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

On board the Swallow, Simon Kemp- 
thorn, master, 

Up for Barbadoes, and the Windward 
Islands. 

COLE. 

The town was in a tumult. 

KEMPTHORN. 

And for what ? 

COLE. 

Your Quakers were arrested. 

KEMPTHORN. 

How my Quakers ? 

COLE. 

Those you brought in your vessel from 
Barbadoes. 

They made an uproar in the Meeting- 
house 



Yesterday, and they 're now in prison 
for it. i© 

I owe you little thanks for bringing 
them 

To the Three Mariners. 

KEMPTHORN. 

They have not harmed you. 
I tell you, Goodman Cole, that Quaker 

girl 
Is precious as a sea-bream's eye. I tell 

you 
It was a lucky day when first she set 
Her little foot upon the Swallow's 

deck, 
Bringing good luck, fair winds, and 

pleasant weather. 

COLE. 

I am a law-abiding citizen ; 

I have a seat in the new Meeting- 
house, 

A cow-right on the Common ; and, be- 
sides, 20 

Am corporal in the Great Artillery. 

I rid me of the vagabonds at once. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Why should you not have Quakers at 

your tavern 
If you have fiddlers ? 

COLE. . 

Never! never! never! 

If you want fiddling you must go else- 
where, 

To the Green Dragon and the Admiral 
Yernon, 

And other such disreputable places. 

But the Three Mariners is an orderly 
house, 

Most orderly, quiet, and respectable. 

Lord Leigh said he could be as quiet 
here 30 

As at the Governor's. And have I 
not 

King Charles's Twelve Good Rules, 
all framed and glazed, 

Hanging in my best parlor ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

Here 's a health 
To good King Charles. Will you not 

drink the King ? 
Then drink confusion to old Parson 

Palmer. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



621 




COLE. 

And who is Parson Palmer ? I don't 
know him. 

KEMPTHORN. 

He had his cellar underneath his pulpit, 
And so preached o'er his liquor, just 
as you do. 

A drum within. 

COLE. 

Here comes the Marshal. 

merry {within). 
Make room for the Marshal. 



" Whereas a cursed sect of Heretics 
Has lately risen, commonly called Quakers ' 



KEMPTHORN. 

How pompous and imposing he ap 



His great buff doublet bellying like a 

mainsail, 
And all his streamers fluttering in the 

wind. 
What holds he in his hand ? 



COLE. 

A proclamation. 

Enter the Marshal, with a proclama- 
tion ; and Merry, with a halberd. 
They are preceded by a drummer, 
and followed by the hangman, with an 
armful of books, and a crowd of peo- 
ple, among whom cure Upsall and 
John Endicott. A pile is made 
of the books. 



622 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



MERRY. 

Silence the drum ! Good citizens, at- 
tend 
To the new laws enacted by the Court. 

marshal (reads). 
"Whereas a cursed sect of Heretics 
Has lately risen, commonly called 

Quakers, 
Who take upon themselves to be com- 
missioned 
Immediately of God, and furthermore 
Infallibly assisted by the Spirit 50 
To write and utter blasphemous opin- 
ions, 
Despising Government and the order 

of God 
In Church and Commonwealth, and 

speaking evil 
Of Dignities, reproaching and reviling 
The Magistrates and Ministers, and 

seeking 
To turn the people from their faith, 

and thus 
Gain proselytes to their pernicious 

ways ; — 
This Court, considering the premises, 
And to prevent like mischief as is 

wrought 
By their means in our land, doth here- 
by order, 60 
That whatsoever master or commander 
Of any ship, bark, pink, or catch shall 

bring 
To any roadstead, harbor, creek, or 

cove 
Within this Jurisdiction any Quakers, 
Or other blasphemous Heretics, shall 

Pay 
Unto the Treasurer of the Common- 
wealth 
One hundred pounds, and for default 

thereof 
Be put in prison, and continue there 
Till the said sum be satisfied and paid." 

COLE. 

Now, Simon Kempthorn, what say 
you to that ? 7° 

KEMPTHORN. 

I pray you, Cole, lend me a hundred 
pounds ! 

marshal (reads). 
u If any one within this Jurisdiction 



Shall henceforth entertain, or shall 
conceal 

Quakers, or other blasphemous Here- 
tics, 

Knowing them so to be, every such 
person 

Shall forfeit to the country forty shil- 
lings 

For each hour's entertainment or con- 
cealment, 

And shall be sent to prison, as afore- 
said, 

Until the forfeiture be wholly paid." 
Murmurs in the crowd. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Now, Goodman Cole, I think your 
turn has come ! 80 

cole. 
Knowing them so to be ! 

KEMPTHORN. 

At forty shillings 
The hour, your fine will be some forty 
pounds ! 

COLE. 

Knowing them so to be ! That is the 
law. 

marshal (reads). 

" And it is further ordered and en- 
acted, 

If any Quaker or Quaker shall pre- 
sume 

To come henceforth into this Jurisdic- 
tion, 

Every male Quaker for the first of- 
fence 

Shall have one ear cut off ; and shall 
be kept 

At labor in the Workhouse, till such 
time 89 

As he be sent away at his own charge. 

And for the repetition of the offence 

Shall have his other ear cut off, and 
then 

Be branded in the palm of his right 
hand. 

And every woman Quaker shall be 
whipt 

Severely in three towns; and every 
Quaker, 

Or he or she, that shall for a third 
time 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



623 



Herein again offend, shall have their 

tongues 
Bored through with a hot iron, and 

shall be 
Sentenced to Banishment on pain of 

Death." 
Loud murmurs. The voice of Christ- 
ison in the crowd. 

patience of the Lord ! How long, 

how long, 100 

Ere thou avenge the blood of Thine 
Elect ? 

MERRY. 

Silence, there, silence ! Do not break 
the peace ! 

marshal {reads). 
" Every inhabitant of this Jurisdiction 
Who shall defend the horrible opin- 
ions 
Of Quakers, by denying due respect 
To equals and superiors, and with- 
drawing 
From Church Assemblies, and thereby 

approving 
The abusive and destructive practices 
Of this accursed sect, in opposition 
To all the orthodox received opinions 
Of godly men, shall be forthwith com- 
mitted in 
Unto close prison for one month ; and 

then 
Refusing to retract and to reform 
The opinions as aforesaid, he shall be 
Sentenced to Banishment on pain of 

Death. 
By the Court. Edward Rawson, 

Secretary." 
Now, hangman, do your duty. Burn 

those books. 
Loud murmurs in the crowd. The pile 
of books is lighted. 

TJPSALL. 

1 testify against these cruel laws ! 
Forerunners are they of some judg- 
ment on us; 

And, in the love and tenderness I 
bear 120 

Unto this town and people, I beseech 
you, 

O Magistrates, take heed, lest ye be 
found 

As fighters against God ! 



john endicott (taking tjpsall's 
hand). 

Upsall, I thank you 
For speaking words such as some 

younger man, 
I, or another, should have said before 

you. 
Such laws as these are cruel and op- 
pressive ; 
A blot on this fair town, and a dis- 
grace 
To any Christian people. 

merry {aside, listening behind them). 
Here 's sedition ! 
I never thought that any good would 

come' 
Of this young popinjay, with his long 

hair 130 

And his great boots, fit only for the 

Russians 
Or barbarous Indians, as his father 

says! 

THE VOICE. 

Woe to the bloody town ! And right- 
fully 

Men call it the Lost Town ! The 
blood of Abel 

Cries from the ground, and at the 
final judgment 

The Lord will say, "Cain, Cain! 
where is thy brother ? " 

MERRY. 

Silence there in the crowd ! 

upsall (aside). 

'Tis Christison! 

THE VOICE. 

O foolish people, ye that think to 

burn 
And to consume the truth of God, I 

tell you 
That every flame is a loud tongue of 

fire 140 

To publish it abroad to all the world 
Louder than tongues of men ! 

kempthorn (springing to his feet). 
Well said, my hearty ! 
There's a brave fellow! There's a 

man of pluck ! 
A man who 's not afraid to say his 
say, 



624 



CHRISTUS : A MYSTERY 



Though a whole town 's against him. 

Rain, rain, rain, 
Bones of St. Botolph, and put out this 

fire! 
The drum beats. Exeunt all but 
Merry, Kempthorn, and Cole. 

merry. 

And now that matter 's ended, Good- 
man Cole, 

Fetch me a mug of ale, your strongest 
ale. 

kempthorn {sitting down). 
And me another mug of flip ; and put 
Two gills of brandy in it. 

[Exit Cole. 

MERRY. 

No ; no more. 

Not a drop more, I say. You 've had 

enough. 151 

KEMPTHORN. 

And who are you, sir? 

MERRY. 

I 'm a Tithing-man, 
And Merry is my name. 

KEMPTHORN. 

A merry name ! 
I like it ; and I '11 drink your merry 

health 
Till all is blue. 

MERRY. 

And then you will be clapped 
Into the stocks, with the red letter D 
HiiDg round about your neck for 

drunkenness. 
You 're a free -drinker, — yes, and a 

free-thinker ! 

KEMPTHORN. 

And you are Andrew Merry, or Merry 

Andrew. 

MERRY. 

My name is Walter Merry, and not 
Andrew. 160 

KEMPTHORN. 

Andrew or Walter, you 're a merry 

fellow ; 
I '11 swear to that. 



MERRY. 

No swearing, let me tell you. 
The other day one Shorthose had his 

tongue 
Put into a cleft stick for profane 

swearing. 

Cole brings the ale. 

KEMPTHRON. 

Well, Where's my flip? As sure as 
my name 's Kempthorn — 

MERRY. 

Is your name Kempthorn ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

That's the name I go by. 

MERRY. 

What, Captain Simon Kempthorn of 
the Swallow ? 



KEMPTHORN. 



No other. 



merry (touching him on the shoulder). 
Then you 're wanted. I arrest you 
In the King's name. 

KEMPTHORN. 

And where's your warrant? 

merry (unfolding a paper, and read- 
ing). 

Here. 

Listen to me. " Hereby you are re- 
quired, 170 

In the King's name, to apprehend the 
body 

Of Simon Kempthorn, mariner, and 
him 

Safely to bring before me, there to 
answer 

All such objections as are laid to him, 

Touching the Quakers. Signed, 
John Endicott." 

KEMPTHORN. 

Has it the Governor's seal? 



Ay, here it is. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Death's head and cross-bones. That 's 
a pirate's flag ! 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



625 



MERRY. 

Beware how you revile the Magis- 
trates ; 
You may be whipped for that. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Then mum 's the word. 
Exeunt Merry and Kempthorn. 




" Worshipful sir ! I meant no harm 



COLE. 

There's mischief brewing! Sure. 

there's mischief brewing ! 180 
I feel like Master Josselyn when he 

found 
The hornet's nest, and thought it some 

strange fruit, 
Until the seeds came out, and then he 

dropped it. [Exit. 



Scene III. — A room in the Governor's 
house. Enter Governor Endicott 
and Merry. 

endicott. 
My son, you say ? 

MERRY. 

Your Worship's eldest son. 

ENDICOTT. 

Speaking against the laws ? 

MERRY. 

Ay, worshipful sir. 

ENDICOTT. 

And in the public market-place ? 

MERRY. 

I saw him 
With my own eyes, heard him with 
my own ears. 

ENDICOTT. 



MERRY. 

He stood there in the crowd 

With Nicholas Upsall, when the laws 
were read 

To-day against the Quakers, and I 
heard him 

Denounce and vilipend them as un- 
just, 

And cruel, wicked, and abominable. 

ENDICOTT. 

Ungrateful son ! O God ! thou layest 
upon me 10 

A burden heavier than I can bear! 

Surely the power of Satan must be 
great 

Upon the earth, if even the elect 

Are thus deceived and fall away from 
grace! 

MERRY. 

Worshipful sir ! I meant no harm — 

ENDICOTT. 

'T is well. 
You've done your duty, though 

you 've done it roughly, 
And every word you 've uttered since 

you came 
Has stabbed me to the heart ! 



626 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



MERRY. 



I do beseech 



Your Worship's pardon 

ENDTCOTT. 

He whom I have nurtured 

And brought up in the reverence of 
the Lord ! 20 

The child of all my hopes and my af- 
fections ! 

He upon whom I leaned as a sure 
staff 

For my old age! It is God's chastise- 
ment 

For leaning upon any arm but His ! 

MERRY. 

Your Worship ! — 

ENDICOTT. 

And this comes from holding parley 
With the delusions and deceits of 

Satan. 
At once, forever, must they be crushed 

out, 
Or all the land will reek with heresy ! 
Pray, have you any children ? 

MERRY. 

No, not any. 

ENDICOTT. 

Thank God for that. He has delivered 
you 30 

From a great care. Enough ; my pri- 
vate griefs 

Too long have kept me from the public 
service. 

Exit Merry. Endicott seats himself 
at the table and arranges his papers. 

The hour has come ; and I am eager 
now 

To sit in judgment on these Heretics. 
A knock. 

Come in. Who is it ? (Not looking up. ) 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 
It is I. 
endicott {restraining himself). 

Sit down ! 
JOHN endicott (sitting down). 
I come to intercede for these poor peo- 
ple 
Who are in prison, and await their 
trial. 



ENDICOTT. 



It is of them I wish to speak with you. 
I have been angry with you, but 't is 



For when I hear your footsteps come 
or go, 40 

See in your features your dead mo- 
ther's face, 

And in your voice detect some tone of 
hers, 

All anger vanishes, and I remember 

The days that are no more, and come 
no more, 

When as a child you sat upon my knee, 

And prattled of your playthings, and 
the games 

You played among the pear trees in 
the orchard! 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Oh, let the memory of my noble mother 
Plead with you to be mild and merci- 
ful! 49 
For mercy more becomes a Magistrate 
Than the vindictive wrath which men 
call justice! 

ENDICOTT. 

The sin of heresy is a deadly sin. 

'T is like the falling of the snow, 
whose crystals 

The traveller plays with, thoughtless 
of his danger, 

Until he sees the air so full of light 

That it is dark ; and blindly stagger- 
ing onward, 

Lost and bewildered, he sits down to 
rest ; 

There falls a pleasant drowsiness upon 
him, 

And what he thinks is sleep, alas ! is 
death. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

And yet who is there that has never 
doubted ? 60 

And doubting and believing, has not 
said, 

"Lord, I believe; help thou my un- 
belief " ? 

ENDICOTT. 

In the same way we trifle with our 

doubts, 
Whose shining shapes are like the stars 

descending ; 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



627 



Until at last, bewildered and dis- 
mayed, 

Blinded by that which seemed to give 
us light, 

We sink to sleep, and find that it is 
death, 

Rising. 

Death to the soul through all eternity ! 

Alas that I should see you growing 
up 

To- man's estate, and in the admoni- 
tion 70 

And nurture of the Law, to find you 
now 

Pleading for Heretics ! 

john endicott (rising). 

In the sight of God, 
Perhaps all men are Heretics. Who 

dares 
To say that he alone has found the 

truth ? 
We cannot always feel and think and 

act 
As those who go before us. Had you 

done so, 
You would not now be here. 

ENDICOTT. 

Have you forgotten 
The doom of Heretics, and the fate of 

those 
Who aid and comfort them ? Have 

you forgotten 
That in the market-place this very 

day 80 

You trampled on the laws ? What 

right have you, 
An inexperienced and untravelled 

youth, 
To sit in judgment here upon the 

acts 
Of older men and wiser than yourself, 
Thus stirring up sedition in the streets, 
And making me a byword and a jest ? 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Words of an inexperienced youth like 

me 
Were powerless if the acts of older 

men 
Went not before them. 'T is these 

laws themselves 
Stir up sedition, not my judgment of 

them. 90 



ENDICOTT. 

Take heed, lest I be called, as Brutus 
was, 

To be the judge of my own son! Be- 
gone ! 

When you are tired of feeding upon 
husks, 

Return again to duty and submission, 

But not till then. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

I hear and I obey ! 
[Exit. 

ENDICOTT. 

Oh happy, happy they who have no 

children ! 
He's gone ! I hear the hall door shut 

behind him. 
It sends a dismal echo through my 

heart, 
As if forever it had closed between us, 
And I should look upon his face no 

more ! 100 

Oh, this will drag me down into my 

grave, — 
To that eternal resting-place wherein 
Man lieth down, and riseth not again! 
Till the heavens be no more he shall 

not wake, 
Nor be roused from his sleep ; for 

Thou dost change 
His countenance, and sendest him 



away 



[Exit. 



ACT III 



Scene I. — The Court of Assistants. 
Endicott, Bellingham, Ather- 
ton, and other magistrates. Kemp- 
thorn, Merry, and constables. Af- 
terwards Wharton, Edith, and 
Christison. 

endicott. 
Call Captain Simon Kempthorn. 

MERRY. 

Simon Kempthorn, 
Come to the bar ! 

kempthorn comes forward. 

ENDICOTT. 

You are accused of bringing 
Into this Jurisdiction, from Barba- 
does, 



6 2 8 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Some persons of that sort and sect of 
people 

Known by the name of Quakers, and 
maintaining 

Most dangerous and heretical opin- 
ions ; 

Purposely coming here to propagate 

Their heresies and errors ; bringing 
with them 

And spreading sundry books here, 
which contain 

Their doctrines most corrupt and blas- 
phemous, - IO 

And contrary to the truth professed 
among us. 

What say you to this charge ? 

KEMPTHORN, 

I do acknowledge, 
Among the passengers on board the 

Swallow 
Were certain persons saying Thee and 

Thou. 
They seemed a harmless people, most- 

ways silent, 
Particularly when they said their 

prayers. 

ENDICOTT. 

Harmless and silent as the pestilence ! 
You'd better have brought the fever 

or the plague 
Among us in your ship ! Therefore, 

this Court, 
For preservation of the Peace and 

Truth, 20 

Hereby commands you speedily to 

transport, 
Or cause to be transported speedily, 
The aforesaid persons hence unto 

Barbadoes, 
From whence they came ; you paying 

all the charges 
Of their imprisonment. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Worshipful sir, 
No ship e'er prospered that has car- 
ried Quakers 
Against their will ! I knew a vessel 
once — 

ENDICOTT. 

And for the more effectual perform- 
ance 
Hereof you are to give security 



In bonds amounting to one hundred 
pounds. 30 

On your refusal, you will be com- 
mitted 

To prison till you do it. 

KEMPTHORN. 

But you see 
I cannot do it. The law, sir, of Bar- 
badoes 
Forbids the landing Quakers on the 
island. 

ENDICOTT. 

Then you will be committed. Who 
comes next ? 

MERRY. 

There is another charge against the 
Captain. 



ENDICOTT. 



What is it? 



MERRY. 

Profane swearing, please your Wor- 
ship. 
He cursed and swore from Dock 
Square to the Court-house. 

ENDICOTT. 

Then let him stand in the pillory for 
one hour. 39 

[Exit Kempthorn with constable. 
Who 's next ? 

MERRY. 

The Quakers. 

ENDICOTT. 

Call them. 

MERRY. 

Edward Wharton, 
Come to the bar ! 

WHARTON. 

Yea, even to the bench. 

ENDICOTT. 

Take off your hat. 

WHARTON. 

My hat offendeth not. 
If it offendeth any, let him take it; 
For I shall not resist. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



629 




ENDICOTT. 

Take off his hat. 
Let him be fined ten shillings for con- 
tempt. 
Merry takes off Wharton's hat. 

WHARTON. 

What evil have I done ? 

ENDICOTT. 

Your hair 's too long ; 
And in not putting off your hat to us 
You've disobeyed and broken that 

commandment 
Which sayeth ' ' Honor thy father and 

thy mother." 

WHARTON. 

John Endicott, thou art become too 

proud ; 50 

And lovest him who putteth off the 

hat, 
And honoreth thee by bowing of the 

body, 
And sayeth "Worshipful sir!" 'Tis 

time for thee 
To give such follies over, for thou 

mayest 
Be drawing very near unto thy grave. 

ENDICOTT. 

Now, sirrah, leave your canting. 
Take the oath. 



WHARTON. 

Nay, sirrah me no sirrahs ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Will you swear ? 

WHARTON. 

Nay, I will not. 

ENDICOTT. 

You made a great disturbance 
And uproar yesterday in the Meeting- 
house, 59 
Having your hat on. 

WHARTON. 

I made no disturbance ; 
For peacefully I stood, like other 

people. 
I spake no words ; moved against 

none my hand; 



630 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



But by the hair they haled me out, 

and dashed 
Their books into my face. 

ENDICOTT. 

You, Edward Wharton, 
On pain of death, depart this Juris- 
diction 
"Within ten days. Such is your sen- 
tence. Go. 

WHARTON. 

John Endicott, it had been well for 

thee 
If this day's doings thou hadst left 

undone. 
But, banish me as far as thou hast 

power, 
Beyond the guard and presence of my 

God 70 

Thou canst not banish me ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Depart the Court ; 
We have no time to listen to your 

babble. 
Who 's next ? [Exit Wharton. 

MERRY. 

This woman, for the same offence. 
Edith comes forward. 

ENDICOTT. 

What is your name ? 

EDITH. 

'T is to the world unknown, 
But written in the Book of Life. 

ENDICOTT. 

Take heed 
It be not written in the Book of 

Death ! 
What is it ? 

EDITH. 

Edith Christison. 
endicott (with eagerness). 

The daughter 
Of Wenlock Christison ? 

EDITH. 

I am his daughter. 

ENDICOTT. 

Your father hath given us trouble 

many times. 
A bold man and a violent, who sets 80 



At naught the authority of our Church 

and State, 
And is in banishment on pain of death. 
Where are you living ? 

EDITH. 

In the Lord. 

ENDICOTT. 

Make answer 
Without evasion. Where ? 

EDITH. 

My outward being 
Is in Barbadoes. 

ENDICOTT. 

Then why come you here ? 

EDITH. 

I come upon an errand of the Lord. 

ENDICOTT. 

'T is not the business of the Lord 

you 're doing ; 
It is the Devil's. Will you take frhe 

oath? 
Give her the Book. 

Merry offers the book. 

EDITH. 

You offer me this Book 
To swear on; and it saith, "Swear 

not at all, 90 

Neither by heaven, because it is God's 

Throne, 
Nor by the earth, because it is his 

footstool ! " 
I dare not swear. 

ENDICOTT. 

You dare not ? Yet you Quakers 
Deny this Book of Holy Writ, the 

Bible, 
To be the Word of God. 

edith (reverentially). 

Christ is the Word, 
The everlasting oath of God. I dare 
not. 

ENDICOTT. 

You own yourself a Quaker, — do you 
not? 

EDITH. 

I own that in derision and reproach 
I am so called. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



631 



ENDIC0TT, 

Then you deny the Scripture 
To be the rule of life. 

EDITH. 

Yea, I believe 
The Inner Light, and not the Written 
Word, 101 

To be the rule of life. 

ENDICOTT. 

And you deny 
That the Lord's Day is holy. 

EDITH. 

Every day 
Is the Lord's Day. It runs through 

all our lives, 
As through the pages of the Holy 

Bible, 
"Thussaith the Lord." 

ENDICOTT. 

You are accused of making 
An horrible disturbance, and affright- 
ing 
The people in the Meeting-house on 

Sunday. 
What answer make you ? 

EDITH. 

I do not deny 
That I was present in your Steeple- 
house no 
On the First Day ; but I made no dis- 
turbance. 

ENDICOTT. 

Why came you there ? 

EDITH. 

Because the Lord commanded. 
His word was in my heart, a burning 

fire 
Shut up within me and consuming 

me, 
And I was very weary with forbearing ; 
I could not stay. 

ENDICOTT. 

'T was not the Lord that sent you ; 
As an incarnate devil did you come ! 

EDITH. 

On the First Day, when, seated in my 
chamber, 

I heard the bells toll, calling you to- 
gether, 



The sound struck at my life, as once 

at his, 120 

The holy man, our Founder, when he 

The far-off bells toll in the Vale of 

Beavor. 
It sounded like a market bell to call 
The folk together, that the Priest 

might set 
His wares to sale. And the Lord said 

within me, 
"Thou must go cry aloud against 

that Idol, 
And all the worshippers thereof." I 

went 
Barefooted, clad in sackcloth, and I 

stood 
And listened at the threshold ; and 

I heard 
The praying and the singing and the 

preaching, 130 

Which were but outward forms, and 

without power. 
Then rose a cry within me, and my 

heart 
Was filled with admonitions and re- 
proofs. 
Remembering how the Prophets and 

Apostles 
Denounced the covetous hirelings and 

diviners, 
I entered in, and spake the words the 

Lord 
Commanded me to speak. I could no 

less. 

ENDICOTT. 

Are you a Prophetess ? 

EDITH. 

Is it not written, 
"Upon my handmaidens will I pour 

OUt 139 

My spirit, and they shall prophesy " ? 

ENDICOTT. 

Enough ; 
For out of your own mouth are you 

condemned ! 
Need we hear further ? 

THE JUDGES. 

We are satisfied. 

ENDICOTT. 

It is sufficient. Edith Christison. 
The sentence of the Court is, that you 
be 



632 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Scourged in three towns, with forty- 
stripes save one, 
Then banished upon pain of death ! 

EDITH. 

Your sentence 
Is truly no more terrible to me 
Than had you blown a feather into 
the air, 




I, Wenlock Christison 



And, as it fell upon me, you had said, 

"Take heed it hurt thee not ! " God's 

will be done S 150 

wenlock christison {unseen in the 

crowd). 
Woe to the city of blood ! The stone 

shall cry 
Out of the wall ; the beam from out 

the timber 



Shall answ T er it. Woe unto him that 

buildeth 
A town with blood, and stablisheth a 

city 
By his iniquity ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Who is it makes 
Such outcry here ? 

christison {coming forward). 

I, Wenlock Christison ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Banished on pain of death, why come 
you here? 

CHRISTISON. 

I come to warn you that you shed no 

more 
The blood of innocent men ! It cries 

aloud 159 

For vengeance to the Lord ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Your life is forfeit 
Unto the law; and you shall surely 

die, 
And shall not live. 

CHRISTISON. 

Like unto Eleazer, 
Maintaining the excellence of ancient 

years 
And the honor of his gray head, I 

stand before you ; 
Like him disdaining all hypocrisy, 
Lest, through desire to live a little 

longer, 
I get a stain to my old age and name ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Being in banishment, on pain of death, 
You come now in among us in rebel- 
lion. 

CHRISTISON. 

I come not in among you in rebel- 
lion, 170 

But in obedience to the Lord of Hea- 
ven. 

Not in contempt to any Magistrate, 

But only in the love I bear your 
souls, 

As ye shall know hereafter, when all 
men 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



633 



Give an account of deeds done in the 

body! 
God's righteous judgments ye cannot 

escape. 

ONE OF THE JUDGES. 

Those who have gone before you said 

the same, 
And yet no judgment of the Lord 

hath fallen 
Upon us. 

CHRISTISON. 

He but waiteth till the measure 
Of your iniquities shall be filled up, 180 
And ye have run your race. Then will 

his wrath 
Descend upon you to the uttermost ! 
For thy part, Humphrey Atherton, it 

hangs 
Over thy head already. It shall come 
Suddenly, as a thief doth in the night, 
And in the hour when least thou 

thinkest of it ! 

ENDICOTT. 

We have a law, and by that law you 
die. 

CHRISTISON. 

I, a free man of England and free- 
born, 

Appeal unto the laws of mine own 
nation ! 

ENDICOTT. 

There's no appeal to England from 

this Court ! 190 

What ! do you think our statutes are 

but paper ? 
Are but dead leaves that rustle in the 

wind? 
Or litter to be trampled under foot? 
What say ye, Judges of the Court, — 

what say ye? 
Shall this man suffer death ? Speak 

your opinions. 

ONE OF THE JUDGES. 

I am a mortal man, and die I must, 
And that ere long ; and I must then 

appear 
Before the awful judgment-seat of 

Christ, 
To give account of deeds done in the 

body. 



My greatest glory on that day will 
be, 200 

That I have given my vote against 
this man. 

CHRISTISON. 

If, Thomas Danforth, thou hast no- 
thing more 

To glory in upon that dreadful day 

Than blood of innocent people, then 
thy glory 

Will be turned*mto shame ! The Lord 
hath said it ! 

ANOTHER JUDGE. 

I cannot give consent, while other 

men 
Who have been banished upon pain 

of death 
Are now in their own houses here 

among us. 

ENDICOTT. 

Ye that will not consent, make record 
of it. 209 

I thank my God that I am not afraid 

To give my judgment. Wenlock 
Christison, 

You must be taken back from hence 
to prison, 

Thence to the place of public execu- 
tion, 

There to be hanged till you be dead 
— dead — dead! 

CHRISTISON. 

If ye have power to take my life from 

me, — 
Which I do question, — God hath 

power to raise 
The principle of life in other men, 
And send them here among you. 

There shall be 
No peace unto the wicked, saith my 

God. 
Listen, ye Magistrates, for the Lord 

hath said it ! 220 

The day ye put his servitors to 

death, 
That day the Day of your own Visita- 
tion, 
The Day of Wrath, shall pass above 

your heads, 
And ye shall be accursed forever 

more! 



634 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



To Edith, embracing her. 
Cheer up, dear heart! they have not 
power to harm us. 
[Exeunt Christison and Edith 
guarded. The Scene closes. 

Scene II. — A street. Enter John 
Endicott and Upsall. 

JOHN endicott. 
Scourged in three towns ! and yet the 

busy people 
Go up and down the streets on their 

affairs 
Of business or of pleasure, as if no- 
thing 
Had happened to disturb them or their 

thoughts ! 
When bloody tragedies like this are 

acted, 
The pulses of a nation should stand 

still ; 
The town should be in mourning, and 

the people 
Speak only in low whispers to each 

other. 

UPSALL. 

I know this people ; and that under- 
neath 

A cold outside there burns a secret 
fire 10 

That will find vent, and will not be 
put out, 

Till every remnant of these barbarous 
laws 

Shall be to ashes burned, and blown 
away. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Scourged in three towns ! It is incred- 
ible 

Such things can be ! I feel the blood 
within me 

Fast mounting in rebellion, since in 
vain 

Have I implored compassion of my 
father ! 

UPSALL. 

You know your father only as a fa- 
ther; 
I know him better as a Magistrate. 
He is a man both loving and severe ; 20 
A tender heart; a will inflexible. 



None ever loved him more than I have 

loved him. 
He is an upright man and a just man 
In all things save the treatment of the 

Quakers. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Yet I have found him cruel and un- 
just 

Even as a father. He has driven me 
forth 

Into the street ; has shut his door 
upon me, 

With words of bitterness. I am as 
homeless 

As these poor Quakers are. 

UPSALL. 

Then come with me. 

You shall be welcome for your fa- 
ther's sake, 30 

And the old friendship that has been 
between us. 

He will relent ere long. A father's 
anger 

Is like a sword without a handle, pierc- 
ing 

Both ways alike, and wounding him 
that wields it 

No less than him that it is pointed at. 

[Exeunt. 



Scene III. The prison. Night. Edith 
reading the Bible by a lamp. 

EDITH. 

' ' BlessM are ye when men shall per- 
secute you, 

And shall revile you, and shall say 
against you 

All manner of evil falsely for my 
sake ! 

Rejoice, and be exceeding glad, for 
great 

Is your reward in heaven. For so the 
prophets, 

Which were before you, have been 
persecuted." 
Enter John Endicott. 



Edith! 



JOHN ENDICOTT. 
EDITH. 

Who is it that sneaketh 1 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



635 



JOHN ENDICOTT. 


EDITH. 


Saul of Tarsus : 
As thou didst call me once. 

edith (coming forward). 

Yea, I remember. 
Thou art the Governor's son. 


I forgive 
All who have injured me. What hast 
thou done ? 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

I have betrayed thee, thinking that in 

this 
I did God's service. Now, in deep 

contrition, 
I come to rescue thee. 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 

I am ashamed 
Thou shouldst remember me. 


EDITH. 

Why comest thou 
Into this dark guest-chamber in the 


EDITH. 

From what ? 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 


night ? 11 
What seekest thou ? 


From prison. 




EDITH. 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Forgiveness ! 


I am safe here within these gloomy 
walls. 




Edith and John Endicott in Prison 



6 3 6 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



JOHN ENDICOTT. 

From scourging in the streets, and in 
three towns ! 

EDITH. 

"Remembering who was scourged for 

me, I shrink not 
Nor shudder at the forty stripes save 

one. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Perhaps from death itself ! 

EDITH. 

I fear not death, 
Knowing who died for me. 

john endicott {aside). 

Surely some divine 
Ambassador is speaking through those 

lips 
And looking through those eyes! I 
cannot answer ! 

EDITH. 

If all these prison doors stood opened 

wide 
I would not cross the threshold, — not 

one step. 
There are invisible bars I cannot break ; 
There are invisible doors that shut me 

in, 
And keep me ever steadfast to my 

purpose. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Thou hast the patience and the faith 
of Saints ! 30 

EDITH. 

Thy Priest hath been with me this day 

to save me, 
Not only from the death that comes to 

all, 
But from the second death ! 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

The Pharisee ! 

My heart revolts against him and his 
creed ! 

Alas! the coat that was without a 
seam 

Is rent asunder by contending sects ; 

Each bears away a portion of the gar- 
ment, 

Blindly believing that he has the 
whole ! 



EDITH. 

When Death, the Healer, shall have 
touched our eyes 

With moist clay of the grave, then 
shall we see 40 

The truth as we have never yet be- 
held it. 

But he that overcometh shall not be 

Hurt of the second death. Has he for- 
gotten 

The many mansions in our father's 
house ? 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

There is no pity in his iron heart ! 

The hands that now bear stamped 
upon their palms 

The burning sign of Heresy, here- 
after 

Shall be uplifted against such accus- 
ers, 

And then the imprinted letter and its 
meaning 

Will not be Heresy, but Holiness ! 50 

EDITH. 

Remember, thou condemnest thine 
own father ! 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

I have no father! He has cast me 

off. 
I am as homeless as the wind that 

moans 
And wanders through the streets. 

Oh, come with me ! 
Do not delay. Thy God shall be my 

God, 
And where thou goest I will go. 

EDITH. 

I cannot. 
Yet will I not deny it, nor conceal 

it; 
From the first moment I beheld thy 

face 
I felt a tenderness in my soul towards 

thee. 
My mind has since been inward to 

the Lord, 60 

Waiting his word. It has not yet 

been spoken. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

I cannot wait. Trust me. Oh, come 
with me! 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



637 



EDITH. 

In the next room, my father, an old 
man, 

Sitteth imprisoned and condemned to 
death, 

Willing to prove his faith by martyr- 
dom, 

And thinkest thou his daughter would 
do less ? 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Oh, life is sweet, and death is terrible ! 

EDITH. 

I have too long walked hand in hand 

with death 
To shudder at that pale familiar face. 
But leave me now. I wish to be 

alone. 70 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Not yet. Oh, let me stay. 

EDITH. 

Urge me no more. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Alas ! good-night. I ' will not say 

good -by ! 

EDITH. 

Put this temptation underneath thy 

feet. 
To him that overcometh shall be given 
The white stone with the new name 

written on it, 
That no man knows save him that 

doth receive it, 
And I will give thee a new name, and 

call thee 
Paul of Damascus and not Saul of 

Tarsus. 
[Exit Endicott. Edith sits down 

again to read the Bible. 

ACT IV 

Scene I. — King Street, in front of 
the town-house. Kempthorn in the 
pillory. Merry and a crowd of 
lookers-on. 

KEMPTHORN (sings) . 

The world is full of care, 

Much like unto a bubble; 
Women and care, and care and women, 

And women and care and trouble. 



Good Master Merry, may I say con- 
found? 

MERRY. 

Ay, that you may. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Well, then, with your permission, 
Confound the Pillory ! 

MERRY. 

That 's the very thing 
The joiner said who made the Shrews- 
bury stocks. 
He said, Confound the stocks, because 

they put him 
Into his own. He was the first man 
in them. i© 

KEMPTHORN. 

For swearing, was it? 

MERRY. 

No, it was for charging ; 
He charged the town too much ; and 

so the town, 
To make things square, set him in his 

own stocks, 
And fined him five pound sterling, — 

just enough 
To settle his own bill. 

KEMPTHORN. 

And served him right ; 
But, Master Merry, is it not eight 
bells ? 

MERRY. 

Not quite. 

KEMPTHORN. 

For, do you see ? I 'm getting tired 

Of being perched aloft here in this 
cro' nest 

Like the first mate of a whaler, or a 
Middy 

Mast-headed, looking out for land! 
Sail ho! 20 

Here comes a heavy-laden merchant- 
man 

With the lee clews eased off, and run- 
ning free 

Before the wind. A solid man of 
Boston, 

A comfortable man, with dividends, 

And the first salmon, and the first 
green peas. 

A gentleman passes. 



6 3 8 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



He does not even turn his head to 

look. 
He 's gone without a word. Here 

comes another, 
A different kind of craft on a taut 

bowline, — 
Deacon Giles Firmin the apothecary, 
A pious and a ponderous citizen, 30 
Looking as rubicund and round and 

splendid 
As the great bottle in his own shop 

window ! 

Deacon Firmin passes. 

And here 's my host of the Three Mar- 
iners, 

My creditor and trusty tavern er, 

My corporal in the Great Artillery ! 

He 's not a man to pass me without 
speaking. 
Cole looks away and passes. 

Don't yaw so ; keep your luff, old 
hypocrite ! 

Respectable, ah yes, respectable, 

You, with your seat in the new Meet- 
ing-house, 

Your cow- right on the Common ! But 
who 's this ? 40 

I did not know the Mary Ann was in ! 

And yet this is my old friend, Captain 
Goldsmith, 

As sure as I stand in the bilboes here. 

Why, Ralph, my boy ! 

Enter Ralph Goldsmith. 

GOLDSMITH. 

Why, Simon, is it you? 
Set in the bilboes ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

Chock-a-block, you see, 
And without chafing-gear. 

GOLDSMITH. 

And what 's it for ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

Ask that starbowline with the boat- 
hook there, 
That handsome man. 

merry (bowing). 

For swearing. 

KEMPTHORN. 

In this town 



They put sea-captains in the stocks 

for swearing, 
And Quakers for not swearing. So 

look out. 50 

GOLDSMITH. 

I pray you set him free ; he meant no 

harm ; 
'T is an old habit he picked up afloat. 

MERRY. 

Well, as your time is out, you may 

come down. 
The law allows you now to go at large 
Like Elder Oliver's horse upon the 

Common. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Now, hearties, bear a hand ! Let go 

and haul. 
kempthorn is set free, and comes for- 
ward, shaking Goldsmith's hand. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Give me your hand, Ralph. Ah, how 

good it feels ! 
The hand of an old friend. 

GOLDSMITH. 

God bless you, Simon ! 

KEMPTHORN. 

Now let us make a straight wake for 

the tavern 
Of the Three Mariners, Samuel Cole 

commander ; 60 

Where we can take our ease, and see 

the shipping, 
And talk about old times. 

GOLDSMITH. 

First I must pay 
My duty to the Governor, and take 

him 
His letters and dispatches. Come with 

me. 

KEMPTHORN. 

I 'd rather not. I saw him yesterday. 

GOLDSMITH. 

Then wait for me at the Three Nuns 
and Comb. 

KEMPTHORN. 

I thank you. That's too near to the 
town pump. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



639 




" Why, Simon, is it you ? 
Set in the bilboes ? " 



I will go with you to the Governor's, 
And wait outside there, sailing off and 

on; 
If I am wanted, you can hoist a 

signal. 70 

MERRY. 

Shall I go with you and point out the 
way ? 

GOLDSMITH. 

Oh no, I thank you. I am not a stran- 
ger 
Here in your crooked little town. 

MERRY. 

How now, sir ? 
Do you abuse our town ? [Exit. 

GOLDSMITH. 

Oh, no offence. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Ralph, I am under bonds for a hun- 
dred pound. 

GOLDSMITH. 

Hard lines. What for ? 



KEMPTHORN. 

To take some Quakers back 
I brought here from Barbadoes in the 

Swallow. 
And how to do it I don't clearly see, 
For one of them is banished, and an- 
other 
Is sentenced to be hanged ! What 
shall I do ? 80 

GOLDSMITH. 

Just slip your hawser on some cloudy 

night ; 
Sheer off, and pay it with the topsail, 

Simon 1 



Scene II. — Street in front of the 
prison. In the background a gate- 
way and several flights of steps lead- 
ing up terraces to the Governor's 
house. A pump on one side of the 
street. John Endicott, Merry, Up- 
sall, and others. A drum beats. 

JOHN endicott. 
Oh shame, shame, shame S 



640 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



MERRY. 

Yes, it would be a shame 
But for the damnable sin of Heresy ! 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

A woman scourged and dragged about 
our streets ! 

MERRY. 

Well, Roxbury and Dorchester must 

take 
Their share of shame. She will be 

whipped in each ! 
Three towns, and Forty Stripes save 

one ; that makes 
Thirteen in each. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

And are we Jews or Christians ? 
See where she comes, amid a gaping 

crowd ! 

And she a child. Oh, pitiful! pitiful ! 

There's blood upon her clothes, her 

hands, her feet ! 10 

Enter Marshal and a drummer, 

Edith, stripped to the waist, followed 

by the hangman with a scourge, and 

a noisy crowd. 

EDITH. 

Here let me rest one moment. I am 

tired. 
Will some one give me water ? 

MERRY. 

At his peril. 

TJPSALL. 

Alas! that I should live to see this 
day! 

A WOMAN. 

Did I forsake my father and my 

mother 
And come here to New England to see 

this? 

EDITH. 

I am athirst. Will no one give me 
water ? 

john endicott (making his way 

through the crowd with water). 
In the Lord's name ! 

edith (drinking). 

In his name I receive it ! 
Sweet as the water of Samaria's well 



This water tastes. I thank thee. Is 

it thou ? 
I was afraid thou hadst deserted 

me. 20 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Never will I desert thee, nor deny 

thee. 
Be comforted. 

MERRY. 

O Master Endicott, 
Be careful what you say. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Peace, idle babbler ! 

MERRY. 

You '11 rue these words ! 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Art thou not better now ? 

EDITH. 

They 've struck me as with roses. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Ah, these wounds ! 
These bloody garments ! 

EDITH. 

It is granted me 
To seal my testimony with my blood. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

O blood-red seal of man's vindictive 
wrath! 

roses of the garden of the Lord ! 

I, of the household of Iscariot, 30 

1 have betrayed in thee my Lord and 

Master ! 
Wenlock Christison appears above, 
at the window of the prison, stretch- 
ing out his hands through the bars. 

CHRISTISON. 

Be of good courage, O my child ! my 
child ! 

Blessed art thou when men shall per- 
secute thee ! 

Fear not their faces, saith the Lord, 
fear not, 

For I am with thee to deliver thee. 

A CITIZEN. 

Who is it crying from the prison yon- 
der ? 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



641 



MERRY. 

It is old Wenlock Christison. 

CHRISTISON. 

Remember 
Him who was scourged, and mocked, 

and crucified! 
I see his messengers attending thee. 
Be steadfast, oh, be steadfast to the 

end ! 40 

. edith (with exultation). 
I cannot reach thee with these arms, 

O father! 
But closely in my soul do I embrace 

thee 
And hold thee. In thy dungeon and 

thy death 
I will be with thee, and will comfort 

thee! 

MARSHAL. 

Come, put an end to this. Let the 

drum beat. 
The drum heats. Exeunt all but John 
Endicott, Upsall, and Merry. 

christison. 

Dear child, farewell! Never shall I 
behold 

Thy face again with these bleared eyes 
of flesh ; 

And never wast thou fairer, lovelier, 
dearer 

Than now, when scourged and bleed- 
ing, and insulted 

For the truth's sake. O pitiless, piti- 
less town! 50 

The wrath of God hangs over thee; 
and the day 

Is near at hand when thou shalt be 
abandoned 

To desolation and the breeding of 
nettles. 

The bittern and the cormorant shall 
lodge 

Upon thine upper lintels, and their 
voice 

Sing in thy windows. Yea, thus saith 
the Lord ! 

JOHN endicott. 
Awake ! awake ! ye sleepers, ere too 

late, * 
And wipe these bloody statutes from 

your books ! [Exit. 



MERRY. 

Take heed ; the walls have ears ! 

UPSALL. 

At last, the heart 
Of every honest man must speak or 

break! 
Enter Governor Endicott with his 
halberdiers. 

ENDICOTT. 

What is this stir and tumult in the 
street ? 

MERRY. 

Worshipful sir, the whipping of a 

girl, 
And her old father howling from the 

prison. 

endicott (to his halberdiers). 
Go on. 

CHRISTISON. 

Antiochus ! Antiochus ! 

O thou that slayest the Maccabees ! 
The Lord 

Shall smite thee with incurable dis- 
ease, 

And no man shall endure to carry 
thee' 

MERRY. 

Peace, old blasphemer ! 

CHRISTISON. 

I both feel and see 
The presence and the waft of death go 

forth 
Against thee, and already thou dost 

look 70 

Like one that's dead ! 

merry {pointing). 
And there is your own son, 
Worshipful sir, abetting the sedition. 

ENDICOTT. 

Arrest him. Do not spare him. 



merry (asic 

His own child ! 
There is some special providence takes 

care 
That none shall be too happy in this 

world ! 
His own first-born. 



642 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



ENDICOTT. 

O Absalom, my son ! 
[Exeunt; the Governor with his hal- 
berdiers ascending the steps of his 
house. 

Scene III. — The Governor's private 
room. Papers upon the table. En- 
dicott and Bellingham. 

ENDICOTT. 

There is a ship from England has come 
in, 

Bringing dispatches and much news 
from home. 

His Majesty was at the Abbey 
crowned ; 

And when the coronation was com- 
plete 

There passed a mighty tempest o'er 
the city, 

Portentous with great thunderings 
and lightnings, 

BELLINGHAM. 

After his father's, if I well remember, 
There was an earthquake, that fore- 
boded evil. 

ENDICOTT. 

Ten of the Regicides have been put 

to death ! 
The bodies of Cromwell, Ireton, and 

Bradshaw 10 

Have been dragged from their graves, 

and publicly 
Hanged in their shrouds at Tyburn. 

BELLINGHAM. 

Horrible ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Thus the old tyranny revives again ! 

Its arm is long enough to reach us here, 

As you will see. For, more insulting 
still 

Than flaunting in our faces dead 
men's shrouds, 

Here is the King's Mandamus, taking 
from us, 

From this day forth, all power to pun- 
ish Quakers. 

BELLINGHAM. 

That takes from us all power ; we are 
but puppets, 19 

And can no longer execute our laws. 



ENDICOTT. 

His Majesty begins with pleasant 

words, 
' ' Trusty and well -beloved, we greet 

you well ; " 
Then with a ruthless hand he strips 

from me 
All that which makes me what I am ; 

as if 
From some old general in the field, 

grown gray 
In service, scarred with many wounds, 
Just at the hour of victory, he should 

strip 
His badge of office and his well-gained 

honors, 
And thrust him back into the ranks 

again. 

Opens the Mandamus and hands it to 
Bellingham ; and, while he is read- 
ing, Endicott walks up and down 
the room. 

Here, read it for yourself ; you see his 
words 30 

Are pleasant words — considerate — 
not reproachful — 

Nothing could be more gentle — or 
more royal ; 

But then the meaning underneath the 
words, 

Mark that. He says all people known 
as Quakers 

Among us, now condemned to suffer 
death 

Or any corporal punishment what- 
ever, 

Who are imprisoned, ormay be obnox- 
ious 

To the like condemnation, shall be 
sent 

Forthwith to England, to be dealt with 
there 

In such wise as shall be agreeable 40 

Unto the English law and their de- 
merits. 

Is it not so ? 

bellingham (returning the paper). 
Ay, so the paper says. 

ENDICOTT. 

It means we shall no longer rule the 

Province ; 
It means farewell to law and liberty, 
Authority, respect for Magistrates, 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



643 



The peace and welfare of the Common- 
wealth. 

If all the knaves upon this conti- 
nent 

Can make appeal to England, and so 
thwart 

The ends of truth and justice by de- 
lay, 

Our power is gone forever. We are 
nothing 50 

But ciphers, valueless save when we 
- follow 

Some unit ; and our unit is the King ! 

'T is he that gives us value. 

BELLINGTT AM . 

I confess 
Such seems to be the meaning of this 

paper, 
But being the King's Mandamus, 

signed and sealed, 
We must obey, or we are in rebel- 
lion. 

ENDICOTT. 

I tell you, Richard Bellingham, — I 
tell you, 

That this is the beginning of a strug- 
gle 

Of which no mortal can foresee the 
end. 

I shall not live to fight the battle for 
you, 60 

I am a man disgraced in every way ; 

This order takes from me my self-re- 
spect 

And the respect of others. 'T is my 
doom, 

Yes, my death-warrant, but must be 
obeyed ! 

Take it, and see that it is executed 

So far as this, that all be set at large ; 

But see that none of them be sent to 
England 

To bear false witness, and to spread 
reports 

That might be prejudicial to our- 
selves. 

[Exit Bellingham. 

There 's a dull pain keeps knocking at 
my heart, 70 

Dolefully saying, " Set thy house in 
order, 

For thou shalt surelv die, and shalt 
not live!" 



For me the shadow on the dial-plate 
Goeth not back, but on into the dark ! 

[Exit. 

Scene IV. — The street. A croiod, read- 
ing a placard on the door of the Meet- 
ing-house. Nicholas Upsall among 
them. Enter John Norton. 

NORTON. 

What is this gathering here ? 

UPSALL. 

One William Brand, 
An old man like ourselves, and weak 

in body, 
Has been so cruelly tortured in his 

prison, 
The people are excited, and they 

threaten 
To tear the prison down. 

NORTON. 

What has been done ? 

UPSALL. 

He has been put in irons, with his 

neck 
And heels tied close together, and so 

left 
From five in the morning until nine 

at night. 

NORTON. 

What more was done ? 

UPSALL. 

He has been kept five days 
In prison without food, and cruelly 

beaten, 10 

So that his limbs were cold, his senses 

stopped. 

NORTON. 

What more ? 

UPSALL. 

And is this not enough? 

NORTON. 

Now hear me. 
This William Brand of yours has 

tried to beat 
Our Gospel Ordinances black and 

blue ; 
And, if he has been beaten in like 

manner, 



644 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



It is but justice, and I will appear 
In his behalf that did so. I suppose 
That he refused to work. 

UPSALL. 

He was too weak. 

How could an old man work, when he 

was starving? i 9 

NORTON. 

And what is this placard ? 

UPSALL. 

The Magistrates, 

To appease the people and prevent a 
tumult, 

Have put up these placards through- 
out the town, 

Declaring that the jailer shalt be 
dealt with 

Impartially and sternly by the Court. 

Norton (tearing down the placard). 
Down with this weak and cowardly 

concession, 
This flag of truce with Satan and with 

Sin! 



I fling it in his face ! I trample it 
Under my feet ! It is his cunning craft, 
The masterpiece of his diplomacy, 
To cry and plead for boundless tolera- 
tion. 30 
But toleration is the first-born child 
Of all abominations and deceits. 
There is no room in Christ's trium- 
phant army 
For tolerationists. And if an An- 
gel 
Preach any other gospel unto you 
Than that ye have received, God's 

malediction 
Descend upon him! Let him be ac- 
cursed ! [Exit. 

UPSALL. 

Now, go thy ways, John Norton ! go 
thy ways, 

Thou Orthodox Evangelist, as men 
call thee ! 

But even now there cometh out of 
England, 40 

Like an o'ertaking and accusing con- 
science, 




" Down with this weak and cowardly concession ' 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



645 




" How beautiful are these autumnal woods ! 



An outraged man, to call thee to 

account 
For the unrighteous murder of his 

son ! [Exit. 



Scene V. 



TJie Wilderness. 
Edith. 



Enter 



EDITH. 

How beautiful are these autumnal 

woods ! 
The wilderness doth blossom like the 

rose, 
And change into a garden of the Lord ! 
How silent everywhere! Alone and 

lost 
Here in the forest, there comes over me 
An inward awfulness. I recall the 

words 



Of the Apostle Paul: "In journey- 

ings often, 
Often in perils in the wilderness, 
In weariness, in painfulness, in 

Watchings, 
In hunger and thirst, in cold and 

nakedness ; " 10 

And I forget my weariness and pain, 
My watchings, and my hunger and 

my thirst. 
The Lord hath said that He will seek 

his flock 
In cloudy and dark days, and they 

shall dwell 
Securely in the wilderness, and sleep 
Safe in the woods ! Whichever way I 

turn, 
I come back with my face towards the 

town. 



6 4 6 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Dimly I see it, and the sea beyond 
it. 

cruel town ! I know what waits me 

there, 
And yet I must go back ; for ever 
louder 20 

1 hear the inward calling of the 

Spirit, 

And must obey the voice. O woods, 
that wear 

Your golden crown of martyrdom, 
blood-stained, 

From you I learn a lesson of submis- 
sion, 

And am obedient even unto death, 

If God so wills it. [Exit. 

JOHN ENDICOTT (within). 

Edith! Edith! Edith! 
He enters. 

It is in vain! I call, she answers 

not; 
I follow, but I find no trace of her ! 
Blood ! blood ! The leaves above me 

and around me 
Are red with blood! The pathways 

of the forest, 30 

The clouds that canopy the setting 

sun 
And even the little river in the mead- 
ows 
Are stained with it ! Where'er I 

look, I see it ! 
Away, thou horrible vision! Leave 

me ! leave me ! 
Alas! yon winding stream, that 

gropes its way 
Through mist and shadow, doubling 

on itself, 
At length will find, by the unerring 

law 
Of nature, what it seeks. O soul of 

man, 
Groping through mist and shadow, 

and recoiling 
Back on thyself, are, too, thy devious 

ways 40 

Subject to law? and when thou 

seemest to wander 
The farthest from thy goal, art thou 

still drawing 
Nearer and nearer to it, till at length 
Thou findest, like the river, what thou 

seekest ? " [Exit. 



ACT V 

Scene I. — Daybreak. Street in front 
of Upsall's house. A light in the 
window. Enter John Endicott. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

O silent, sombre, and deserted streets, 
To me ye 're peopled with a sad pro- 
cession, 
And echo only to the voice of sorrow ! 

houses full of peacefulness and 

sleep, 
Far better were it to awake no more 
Than wake to look upon such scenes 

again ! 
There is a light in Master Upsall's 

window. 
The good man is already risen, for 

sleep 
Deserts the couches of the old. 

Knocks at Upsall's door. 

upsall {at the window). 

Who's there? 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Am I so changed you do not know 
my voice? 10 

UPSALL. 

1 know you. Have you heard what 

things have happened ? 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

I have heard nothing. 

UPSALL. 

Stay ; I will come down. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

I am afraid some dreadful news 
awaits me ! 

I do not dare to ask, yet am impa- 
tient 

To know the worst. Oh, I am very 
weary 

With waiting and with watching and 
pursuing ! 

Enter Upsall. 

UPSALL. 

Thank God, you have come back! 

I 've much to tell you. 
Where have you been ? 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



647 



JOHN ENDICOTT. 

You know that I was seized, 
Fined, and released again. You know 

that Edith, 
After her scourging in three towns, 

was banished 20 

Into the wilderness, into the land 
That is not sown ; and there I followed 

her, 
But found her not. Where is she? 



She is here. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Oh, do not speak that word, for it 
means death ! 

UPSALL. 

No, it means life. She sleeps in yon- 
der chamber. 
Listen to me. When news of Leddra's 

death 
Beached England, Edward Burroughs, 

having boldly- 
Got access to the presence of the 
King, 



Told him there was a vein of innocent 
blood 

Opened in his dominions here, which 
threatened 30 

To overrun them all. The King re- 
plied, 

" But I will stop that vein ! " and he 
forthwith 

Sent his Mandamus to our Magis- 
trates, 

That they proceed no further in this 
business. 

So all are pardoned, and all set at 
large. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Thank God ! This is a victory for 

truth ! 
Our thoughts are free. They cannot 

be shut up 
In prison walls, nor put to death on 

scaffolds! 

UPSALL. 

Come in ; the morning air blows sharp 
and cold 39 

Through the damp streets. 




Here are King Charles's Twelve Good Rules 



648 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



JOHN ENDICOTT. 

It is the dawn of day 
That chases the old darkness from our 

sky, 
And fills the land with liberty and 

light. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. — TJie parlor of the Three 
Mariners. Enter Kempthorn. 

KEMPTHORN. 

A dull life this, — a dull life anyway ! 
Ready for sea ; the cargo all aboard, 
Cleared for Barbadoes, and a fair wind 

blowing 
From nor'-nor'-west ; and I, an idle 

lubber, 
Laid neck and heels by that con^ 

founded bond ! 
I said to Ralph, says I, "What's to 

be done ? " 
Says he: "Just slip your hawser in 

the night ; 
Sheer off, and pay it with the topsail, 

Simon. " 
But that won't do ; because, you see, 

the owners 
Somehow or other are mixed up with 

it. 10 

Here are King Charles's Twelve Good 

Rules, that Cole 
Thinks as important as the Rule of 

Three. 

Beads. 
"Make no comparisons; make no 

long meals." 
Those are good rules and golden for a 

landlord 
To hang in his best parlor, framed 

and glazed ! 
"Maintain no ill opinions; urge no 

healths. " 
I drink the King's, whatever he may 

say, 
And, as to ill opinions, that depends. 
Now of Ralph Goldsmith I 've a good 

opinion, 
And of the bilboes I've an ill opin- 
ion ; 20 
And both of these opinions I'll main- 
tain 
As long as there 's a shot left in the 

locker. 
Enter Edward Butter with an ear- 
trumpet. 



BUTTER. 

Good morning, Captain Kempthorn. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Sir, to you. 
You 've the advantage of me. I don't 

know you. 
What may I call your name ? 

BUTTER. 

That 's not your name ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

Yes, that 's my name. What 's yours ? 

BUTTER. 

My name is Butter. 
I am the treasurer of the Common- 
wealth. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Will you be seated ? 

BUTTER. 

What say ? Who 's conceited ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

Will you sit down ? 

BUTTER. 

Oh, thank you. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Spread yourself 
Upon this chair, sweet Butter. 

butter {sitting down). 

A fine morning. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Nothing 's the matter with it that I 
know of. 31 

I have seen better, and I have seen 
worse. 

The wind 's nor'-west. That 's fair 
for them that sail. 

BUTTER. 

You need not speak so loud ; I under- 
stand you. 
You sail to-day. 

KEMPTHORN. 

No, I don't sail to-day. 
So, be it fair or foul, it matters not. 
Say, will you smoke ? There's choice 
tobacco here. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



649 



BUTTER. 

No, thank you. It 's against the law 
to smoke. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Thee, will you drink ? There's good 
ale at this inn. 

BUTTER. 

No, thank you. It 's against the law 
to drink. 40 

KEMPTHORN. 

Well, almost everything 's against the 
law 

In this good town. Give a wide berth 
to one thing, 

You 're sure to fetch up soon on some- 
thing else. 

BUTTER. 

And so you sail to-day for dear Old 

England. 
I am not one of those who think a 

sup 
Of this New England air is better 

worth 
Than a whole draught of our Old 

England's ale. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Nor I. Give me the ale and keep the 

air. 
But, as I said, I do not sail to-day. 

BUTTER. 

Ah yes ; you sail to-day. 

KEMPTHORN. 

I 'in under bonds 
To take some Quakers back to the 
Barbadoes; 51 

And one of them is banished, and an- 
other. 
Is sentenced to be hanged. 

BUTTER. 

No, all are pardoned, 
All are set free, by order of the 

Court ; 
But some of them would fain return 

to England. 
You must not take them. Upon that 

condition 
Your bond is cancelled. 



KEMPTHORN. 

Ah, the wind has shifted! 
I pray you, do you speak officially ? 

BUTTER. 

I always speak officially. To prove it, 
Here is the bond. 

Rising and giving a paper. 

KEMPTHORN. 

And here 's my hand upon it. 
And, look you, when I say I '11 do a 

thing 61 

The thing is done. Am I now free to 

go? 

BUTTER. 

What say ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

I say, confound the tedious man 
With his strange speaking-trumpet ! 
Can I go? 

BUTTER. 

You 're free to go, by order of the 

Court. 
Your servant, sir. {Exit. 

kempthorn (shouting from the win- 
dow). 
Swallow, ahoy! Hallo! 
If ever a man was happy to leave 

Boston, 
That man is Simon Kempthorn of the 
Swallow ! 

Reenter Butter. 

BUTTER. 

Pray, did you call ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

Call? Yes, I hailed the Swallow. 

BUTTER. 

That's not my name. My name is 
Edward Butter. 70 

You need not speak so loud. 

kempthorn (shaking hands). 

Good- by ! Good -by ! 

BUTTER. 

Your servant, sir. 

KEMPTHORN. 

And yours a thousand times ! 
[Exeunt. 



650 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 




" Trouble me no more ! 
My business now is with another world " 



Scene III. — Governor Endicott's 

private room. An open window. 
Endicott seated in an arm-chair. 
Belltngham standing near 

ENDICOTT. 

O lost, O loved ! wilt thou return no 

more? 
O loved and lost, and loved the more 

when lost ! 
How many men are dragged into their 

graves 
By their rebellious children! I now 

feel 
The agony of a father's breaking heart 
In David's cry, "O Absalom, my 

son ! " 

BELLINGHAM. 

Can you not turn your thoughts a 

little while 
To public matters? There are papers 

here 
That need attention. 



ENDICOTT. 

Trouble me n j more ! 

My business now is with another 
world. 10 

Ah, Richard Bellingham ! I greatly fear 

That in my righteous zeal I have been 
led 

To doing many things which, left un- 
done, 

My mind would now be easier. Did I 
dream it, 

Or has some person told me, that John 
Norton 

Is dead? 

BELLINGHAM. 

You have not dreamed it. He is dead, 
And gone to his reward. It was no 
dream. 

ENDICOTT. 

Then it was very sudden ; for I saw 

him 
Standing where you now stand, not 

long ago. * 19 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



651 



BELLINGHAM. 

By his own fireside, in the afternoon, 
A faintness and a giddiness came o'er 

him ; 
And, leaning on the chimney-piece, he 

cried, 
" The hand of God is on me ! " and fell 

dead. 

ENDICOTT. 

And did not some one say, or have "I 

dreamed it, 
That Humphrey Atherton is dead? 

BELLENGHAM. 

Alas! 
He too is gone, and by a death as sud- 
den. 



ENDICOTT. 

I am not superstitious, Bellingham, 
And yet I tremble lest it may have 

been 
A judgment on him. 

BELLINGHAM. 

So the people think. 

They say his horse saw standing in 
the way 

The ghost of William Leddra, and 
was frightened. 

And furthermore, brave Richard Dav- 
enport, 

The captain of the Castle, in the storm 

Has been struck dead by lightning. 




Outward, bound 



Returning home one evening, at the 

place 
Where usually the Quakers have 

been scourged, 
His horse took fright, and threw him 

to the ground, 
So that his brains were dashed about 

the street. 30 



ENDICOTT. 

Speak no more. 
For as I listen to 3-our voice it seems 
As if the Seven Thunders uttered 

their voices, 40 

And the dead bodies lay about the 

streets 



652 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Of the disconsolate city ! Bellingham, 
I did not put those wretched men to 

death. 
I did but guard the passage with the 

sword 
Pointed towards thern, and they 

rushed -upon it ! 
Yet now I would that I had taken no 

part 
In all that bloody work. 

BELLINGHAM. 

The guilt of it 
Be on their heads, not ours. 

ENDICOTT. 

Are all set free ? 

BELLINGHAM. 

All are at large. 

ENDICOTT. 

And none have been sent back 

To England to malign us with the 

King ? so 

BELLINGHAM. 

The ship that brought them sails this 

very hour, 
But carries no one back. 

A distant cannon. 

ENDICOTT. 

What is that gun? 

BELLINGHAM. 

Her parting signal. Through the 

window there, 
Look, you can see her sails, above the 

roofs, 
Dropping below the Castle, outward 

bound. 

ENDICOTT. 

white, white, white ! Would that 

my soul had wings 
As spotless as those shining sails to 

fly with ! 
Now lay this cushion straight. I 

thank you. Hark ! 

1 thought I heard the hall door open 

and shut ! 
I thought I heard the footsteps of my 
boy ! 60 

BELLINGHAM. 

It was the wind. There 's no one in 
the passage. 



ENDICOTT. 

O Absalom, my son ! I feel the 

world 
Sinking beneath me, sinking, sinking, 

sinking ! 
Death knocks 1 I go to meet him ! 

Welcome, Death! 
Rises, and sinks back dead; his head 
falling aside upon his shoulder. 

BELLINGHAM. 

O ghastly sight ! Like one who has 
been hanged! 

Endicott! Endicott! He makes no 
answer ! 
Raises Endicott' s head. 

He breathes no more ! How bright 
this signet-ring 

Glitters upon his hand, where he has 
worn it 

Through such long years of trouble, 
as if Death 

Had given him this memento of affec- 
tion, 70 

And whispered in his ear, "Remem- 
ber me ! " 

How placid and how quiet is his face, 

Now that the struggle and the strife 
are ended ! 

Only the acrid spirit of the times 

Corroded this true steel. Oh, rest in 
peace, 

Courageous heart! Forever rest in 
peace ! 



GILES COREY OF THE SALEM 
FARMS 

DRAMATIS persons 

Giles Corby .... Farmer. 

John Hathorne . . . Magistrate. 

Cotton Mather . . . Minister of the Gospel. 

Jonathan Walcot . . A youth. 

Richard Gardner . . Sea-Captain. 
John Gloyd .... Corey's hired man. 

Martha Wife of Giles Corey. 

Tituba An Indian woman. 

Mary Walcot .... One of the Afflicted. 

The Scene is in Salem in the year 1692. 

PROLOGUE 

Delusions of the days that once have 

been, 
Witchcraft and wonders of the world 

unseen. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



653 



Phantoms of air, and necromantic 

arts 
That crushed the weak and awed the 

stoutest hearts, — 
These are our theme to-night ; and 

vaguely here, 
Through the dim mists that crowd the 

atmosphere, 
We draw the outlines of weird figures 

cast 
In shadow on the background of the 
- Past. 

Who would believe that in the quiet 

town 
Of Salem, and amid the woods that 

crown 10 

The neighboring hillsides, and the 

sunny farms 
That fold it safe in their paternal 

arms, — 
Who would believe that in those 

peaceful streets, 
Where the great elms shut out the 

summer heats, 
Where quiet reigns, and breathes 

through brain and breast 
The benediction of unbroken rest, — 
Who would believe such deeds could 

find a place 
As these whose tragic history we re- 
trace ? 

'T was but a village then : the good- 
man ploughed 

His ample acres under suu or cloud ; 20 

The good wife at her doorstep sat and 
spun, 

And gossiped with her neighbors in 
the sun ; 

The only men of dignity and state 

Were then the Minister and the Ma- 
gistrate, 

Who ruled their little realm with iron 
rod, 

Less in the love than in the fear of 
God; 

And who believed devoutly in the 
Powers 

Of Darkness, working in this world of 
ours, 

In spells of Witchcraft, incantations 
dread, 29 

And shrouded apparitions of the dead. 



Upon this simple folk " with fire and 

flame," 
Saith the old Chronicle, "the Devil 

came ; 
Scattering his firebrands and his pois- 
onous darts, 
To set on fire of Hell all tongues and 

hearts ! 
And 't is no wonder ; for, with all his 

host, 
There most he rages where he hateth 

most, 
And is most hated ; so on us he brings 
All these stupendous and portentous 

things!" 

Something of this our scene to-night 

will show ; 
And ye who listen to the Tale of 

Woe, '40 

Be not too swift in casting the first 

stone, 
Nor think New England bears the 

guilt alone. 
This sudden burst of wickedness and 

crime 
Was but the common madness of the 

time, 
When in all lands, that lie within the 

sound 
Of Sabbath bells, a Witch was burned 

or drowned. 



ACT I 

Scene I. — The woods near Salem Vil- 
lage. Enter Tituba, with a basket 
of herbs. 

TITUBA. 

Here 's monk's-hood, that breeds fever 
in the blood ; 

And deadly nightshade, that makes 
men see ghosts ; 

And henbane, that will shake them 
with convulsions ; 

And meadow-saffron and black helle- 
bore, 

That rack the nerves, and puff the 
skin with dropsy ; 

And bitter-sweet, and briony, and eye- 
bright, 

That cause eruptions, nosebleed, rheu- 
matisms ; 



654 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



I know them, and the places where 

they hide 
In field and meadow ; and I know 

their secrets, 
And gather them because they give 

me power 10 

Over all men and women. Armed 

with these, 
I, Tituba, an Indian and a slave, 
Am stronger than the captain with his 

sword, 
A.m richer than the merchant with his 

money, 



The death of cattle and the blight of 
corn, 

The shipwreck, the tornado, and the 
fire, — 

These are my doings, and they know 
it not. 

Thus I work vengeance on mine ene- 
mies, 

Who, while they call me slave, are 
slaves to me ! 

Exit Tituba. Enter Mather, booted 
and spurred, with a riding-whip in 
his hand. 




Witch Hill, Salem 



Am wiser than the scholar with his 

books, 
Mightier than Ministers and Magis- 
trates, 
With all the fear and reverence that 

attend them ! 
For I can fill their bones with aches 

and pains, 
Can make them cough with asthma, 

shake with palsy, 
Can make their daughters see and talk 

with ghosts, 20 

Or fall into delirium and convulsions. 
I have the Evil Eye, the Evil Hand ; 
A touch from me and they are weak 

with pain, 
A look from me, and they consume 

and die. 



MATHER. 

Methinks that I have come by paths 
unknown 30 

Into the land and atmosphere of 
Witches ; 

For, meditating as I journeyed on, 

Lo ! I have lost my way ! If I remem- 
ber 

Rightly, it is Scribonius the learned 

That tells the story of a man who, 
praying 

For one that was possessed by Evil 
Spirits, 

Was struck by Evil Spirits in the face ; 

I, journeying to circumvent the 
Witches 

Surely by Witches have been led 
astray. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



655 



I am persuaded there are few affairs 4 o 

In which the Devil doth not interfere. 

We cannot undertake a journey even. 

But Satan will be there to meddle 
with it 

By hindering or by furthering. He 
hath led me 

Into this thicket, struck me in the face 

With branches of the trees, and so en- 
tangled 

The fetlocks of my horse with vines 
and brambles. 

That I must needs dismount, and 
search on foot 

For the lost pathway leading to the 
village. 

Reenter Tituba. 
What shape is this ? What monstrous 

apparition, so 

Exceeding fierce, that none may pass 

that way ? 
Tell me, good woman, if you are a 

woman — 

TITUBA. 

I am a woman, but I am not good. 
I am a Witch ! ■ 

MATHER. 

Then tell me, Witch and woman, 
For you must know the pathways 

through this wood, 
Where lieth Salem Village ? 

TITUBA. 

Reverend sir, 
The village is near by. I'm going 

there 
With these few herbs. I '11 lead you. 

Follow me. 

MATHER. 

First say, who are you ? I am loath 
to follow 59 

A stranger in this wilderness, for fear 

Of being misled, and left in some 
morass. 

Who are you ? 

TITUBA. 

I am Tituba the Witch, 
Wife of John Indian. 



You are Tituba ? 
I know you then. You have re- 
nounced the Devil, 



And have become a penitent confessor. 

The Lord be praised ! Go on, I '11 fol- 
low you. 

Wait only till I fetch my horse, that 
stands 

Tethered among the trees, not far 
from here. 

TITUBA. 

Let me get up behind you, reverend 
sir. 

MATHER. 

The Lord forbid ! What would the 
people think, 70 

If they should see the Reverend Cot- 
ton Mather 

Ride into Salem with a Witch behind 
him ? 

The Lord forbid ! 

TITUBA. 

I do not need a horse ! 
I can ride through the air upon a 

stick, 
Above the tree-tops and above the 
* houses, 

And no one see me, no one overtake 

me ! [Exeunt. 

Scene II. — A room at Justice Ha- 
thorne's. A clock in the corner. 
Enter Hathorne and, Mather. 

HATHORNE. 

You are welcome, reverend sir, thrice 

welcome here 
Beneath my humble roof. 

MATHER. 

I thank your Worship. 

HATHORXE. 

Pray you be seated. You must be 
fatigued 

With your long ride through unfre- 
quented woods. 

They sit down. 

MATHER. 

You know the purport of my visit 

here, — 
To be advised by you, and counsel 

with you, 
And with the Reverend Clergy of the 

village, 



6 5 6 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Touching these witchcrafts that so 
much afflict you ; 

And see with mine own eyes the won- 
ders told 

Of spectres and the shadows of the 
dead, 10 

That come back from their graves to 
speak with men. 

HATHORNE. 

Some men there are, I have known 

such, who think 
That the two worlds — the seen and 

the unseen, 
The world of matter and the world of 

spirit — 
Are like the hemispheres upon our 

maps, 
And touch each other only at a point. 
But these two worlds are not divided 

thus, 
Save for the purposes y>f common 

speech. 
They form one globe, in which the 

parted seas 19 

All flow together and are intermingled^ 
While the great continents remain dis- 
tinct. 

MATHER. 

I doubt it not. The spiritual world 

Lies all about us, and its avenues 

Are open to the unseen feet of phan- 
toms 

That come and go, and we perceive 
them not, 

Save by their influence, or when at 
times 

A most mysterious Providence per- 
mits them 

To manifest themselves to mortal eyes. 

HATHORNE. 

You, who are always welcome here 

among us, 
Are doubly welcome now. We need 

your wisdom, 30 

Your learning in these things, to be 

our guide. 
The Devil hath come down in wrath 

upon us, 
And ravages the land with all his 

hosts. 

MATHER. 

The Unclean Spirit said, "My name is 
Legion 1 " 



Multitudes in the Yalley of Destruc- 
tion ! 

But when our fervent, well-directed 
prayers, 

Which are the great artillery of Hea- 
ven, 

Are brought into the field, I see them 
scattered 

And driven like autumn leaves before 
the wind. 

HATHORNE. 

You, as a Minister of God, can meet 
them 40 

With spiritual weapons ; but, alas ! 

I, as a Magistrate, must combat them 

With weapons from the armory of the 
flesh. 

MATHER. 

These wonders of the world invisi- 
ble, — 

These spectral shapes that haunt our 
habitations, — 

The multiplied and manifold afflic- 
tions 

With which the* aged and the dying 
saints 

Have their death prefaced and their 
age imbittered, — 

Are but prophetic trumpets that pro- 
claim 

The Second Coming of our Lord on 
earth. 50 

The evening wolves will be much 
more abroad, 

When we are near the evening of the 
world. 

HATHORNE. 

When you shall see, as I have hourly 

seen, 
The sorceries and the witchcrafts that 

torment us, 
See children tortured by invisible 

spirits, 
And wasted and consumed by powers 

unseen, 
You will confess the half has not been 

told you. 

MATHER. 

It must be so. The death-pangs of the 
Devil 

Will make him more a Devil than be- 
fore; 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



657 



And Nebuchadnezzar's furnace will be 
heated 60 

Seven times more hot before its put- 
ting out. 

HATHORNE. 

Advise me, reverend sir. I look to 

you 

For counsel and for guidance in this 

matter. 
What further shall we do ? 

MATHER. 

Remember this, 
That as a sparrow falls not to the 

ground 
Without the will of God, so not a 

Devil 
Can come down from the air without 

his leave. 
We must inquire. 

HATHORNE. 

Dear sir, we have inquired ; 
Sifted the matter thoroughly through 
and through, 69 

And then resifted it. . 

MATHER. 

If God permits 
These Evil Spirits from the unseen 

regions 
To visit us with surprising informa- 
tions, 
We must inquire what cause there is 

for this, 
But not receive the testimony borne 
By spectres as conclusive proof of 

guilt 
In the accused. 

HATHORNE. 

Upon such evidence 
We do not rest our case. The ways 

are many 
In which the guilty do betray them- 
selves. 

MATHER. 

Be careful. Carry the knife with such 

exactness, 
That on one side no innocent blood be 

shed 80 

By too excessive zeal, and on the 

other 
No shelter given to any work of dark- 



HATHORNE. 

For one, I do not fear excess of zeal. 

What do we gain by parleying with 
the Devil ? 

You reason, but you hesitate to act ! 

Ah, reverend sir ! believe me, in such 
cases 

The only safety is in acting promptly. 

'T is not the part of wisdom to delay 

In things where not to do is still to do 

A deed more fatal than the deed we 
shrink from. 90 

You are a man of books and medita- 
tion, 

But I am one who acts. 

MATHER. 

God give us wisdom 
In the directing of this thorny busi- 
ness, 
And guide us, lest New England 

should become 
Of an unsavory and sulphurous odor 
In the opinion of the world abroad ! 

The clock strikes. 
I never hear the striking of a clock 
Without a warning and an admonition 
That time is on the wing, and we 

must quicken 
Our tardy pace in journeying Heaven- 
ward, 100 
As Israel did in journeying Canaan- 
ward! 

They rise. 

HATHORNE. 

Then let us make all haste ; and I will 
show you 

In what disguises and what fearful 
shapes 

The Unclean Spirits haunt this neigh- 
borhood, 

And you will pardon my excess of 
zeal. 

MATHER. 

Ah, poor New England ! He who 
hurricanoed 

The house of Job is making now on 
thee 

One last assault, more deadly and 
more snarled 

With unintelligible circumstances 

Than any thou hast hitherto encoun- 
tered 1 no 
[Exeunt. 



6 5 8 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Scene III. — A room in Walcot's 
house. Mary Walcot seated in an 
arm-chair. Tituba with a mirror. 



Tell me another story, Tituba. 

A drowsiness is stealing over me 

Which is not sleep ; for, though I 
close mine eyes, 

I am awake, and in another world. 

Dim faces of the dead and of the ab- 
sent 

Come floating up before me, — float- 
ing, fading, 

And disappearing. 



What see you 



TITUBA. 

Look into this glass. 



• Nothing but a golden vapor. 
Yes, something more. An island, with 

the sea 
Breaking all round it, like a blooming 

hedge. 10 

What land is this ? 

TITUBA. 

It is San Salvador, 
Where Tituba was born. What see 

you now ? 

MARY. 

A man all black and fierce. 

TITUBA. 

That is my father. 
He was an Obi man, and taught me 

magic, — 
Taught me the use of herbs and 

images. 
What is he doing ? 

MARY. 

Holding in his hand 
A waxen figure. He is melting it 
Slowly before a fire. 

TITUBA. 

And now what see you ? 

MARY. 

A woman lying on a bed of leaves, 
Wasted and worn away. Ah, she is 
dying ! 20 



TITUBA. 

That is the way the Obi men destroy 
The people they dislike ! That is the 

way 
Some one is wasting and consuming 

you. 

MARY. 

You terrify me, Tituba ! Oh, save me 
From those who make me pine and 

waste away ! 
Who are they ? Tell me. 

TITUBA. 

That I do not know. 
But you will see them. They will 
come to you. 

MARY. 

No, do not let them come ! I cannot 
bear it ! 28 

I am too weak to bear it ! I am dying. 
Falls into a trance. 

TITUBA. 

Hark ! there is some one coming ! 
Enter Hathorne, Mather, and 
Walcot. 

walcot. 

There she lies, 
Wasted and worn by devilish incanta- 
tions 1 
O my poor sister ! 

MATHER. 

Is she always thus ? 

WALCOT. 

Nay. she is sometimes tortured by 
convulsions. 

MATHER. 

Poor child ! How thin she is ! How 
wan and wasted ! 

HATHORNE. 

Observe her. She is troubled in her 
sleep. 

MATHER. 

Some fearful vision haunts her. 

HATHORNE. 

You now see 
With your own eyes, and touch with 

your own hands, 
The mysteries of this Witchcraft, 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



659 




MATHER. 

One would need 
The hands of Briareus and the eyes of 
Argus 39 

To see and touch them all. 

HATHORNE. 

You now have entered 
The realm of ghosts and phantoms, — 

the vast realm 
Of the unknown and the invisible, 
Through whose wide-open gates there 

blows a wind 
From the dark valley of the shadow of 

Death, 
That freezes us with horror. 

mart {starting). 

Take her. hence ! 
Take her away from me. I see her 

there ! 
She 's coming to torment me ! 

walcot {taking her hand). 

O my sister ! 
What frightens you? She neither 

hears nor sees me. 
She 's in a trance. 

MARY. 

Do you not see her there ? 

TITUBA. 

My child, who is it ? 



MARY. 

Ah, I do not know. 
I cannot see her face. 

TITUBA. 

How she is clad ? 

MARY. 

She wears a crimson bodice. In her 
hand 52 

She holds an image, and is pinching 
it 

Between her fingers. Ah, she tor- 
tures me ! 

I see her face now. It is Good wife 
Bishop! 

Why does she torture me ? I never 
harmed her ! 

And now she strikes me with an iron 
rod! 

Oh, I am beaten ! 

MATHER. 

This is wonderful! 

I can see nothing! Is this appari- 
tion 

Visibly there, and yet we cannot see 
it? 60 



66o 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



HATHORNE. 

It is. The spectre is invisible 
Unto our grosser senses, but she sees 
it. 

MARY. 

Look ! look ! there is another clad in 

gray! 
She holds a spindle in her hand, and 

threatens 
To stab me with it ! It is Goodwife 

Corey ! 
Keep her away ! Now she is coming 

at me ! 
O mercy ! mercy ! 

walcot {thrusting with his sword). 
There is nothing there ! 

MATHER (to HATHORNE). 

Do you see anything ? 

HATHORNE. 

The laws that govern 
The spiritual world prevent our see- 
ing 
Things palpable and visible to her. 70 
These spectres are to us as if they 

were not. 
Mark her ; she wakes. 
Tituba touches her, and she awakes. 

MARY. 

Who are these gentlemen ? 

walcot. 
They are our friends. Dear Mary, 
are you better ? 

MARY. 

Weak, very weak. 

Taking a spindle from her lap, and 
holding it up. 
How came this spindle here ? 

TITUBA. 

You wrenched it from the hand of 

Goodwife Corey 
When she rushed at you. 

HATHORNE. 

Mark that, reverend sir ! 

MATHER. 

It is most marvellous, most inexplica- 
ble ! 



tituba (picking up a bit of gray cloth 

from the floor). 
And here, too, is a bit of her gray 

dress, 
That the sword cut away. 

MATHER. 

Beholding this, 
It were indeed by far more credulous 
To be incredulous than to believe. 81 
None but a Sadducee, who doubts of 

all 
Pertaining to the spiritual world, 
Could doubt such manifest and damn- 
ing proofs ! 

HATHORNE. 

Are you convinced ? 

MATHER (tO MARY). 

Dear child, be comforted ! 
Only by prayer and fasting can you 

drive 
These Unclean Spirits from you. An 

old man 
Gives you his blessing. God be with 

you, Mary! 

ACT II 

Scene I. — Giles Corey's farm. 
Morning. Enter Corey, with a 
horseshoe and a hammer. 

COREY. 

The Lord hath prospered me. The 

rising sun 
Shines on my Hundred Acres and my 

woods 
As if he loved them. On a morn like 

this 
I can forgive mine enemies, and thank 

God 
For all his goodness unto me and 

mine. 
My orchard groans with russets and 

pearmains; 
My ripening corn shines golden in the 

sun ; 
My barns are crammed with hay, my 

cattle thrive ; 
The birds sing blithely on the trees 

around me ! 
And blither than the birds my heart 

within me. 10 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



661 



But Satan still goes up and down the 

earth ; 
And to protect this house from his 

assaults, 
And keep the powers of darkness from 

my door, 
This horseshoe will I nail upon the 

threshold. 

Nails down the horseshoe. 
There, ye night-hags and witches that 

torment 
The neighborhood, ye shall not enter 

here ! — 
What is the matter in the field? — 

John Gloyd ! 
The cattle are all running to the 

woods ! — 
John Gloyd! Where is the man ? 
Enter John Gloyd. 

Look there! 
What ails the cattle? Are they all 

bewitched ? 20 

They run like mad. 

GLOYD. 

They have been overlooked. 

COREY. 

The Evil Eye is on them sure enough. 
Call all the men. Be quick. Go after 
them! 
Exit Gloyd and enter Martha. 

MARTHA. 

What is amiss ? 

COREY. 

The cattle are bewitched. 
They are broken loose and making for 
the woods. 

MARTHA. 

Why will you harbor such delusions, 

Giles ? 
Bewitched ? Well, then it was John 

Gloyd bewitched them ; 
I saw him even now take down the bars 
And turn them loose ! They 're only 

frolicsome. 29 



COREY. 



The rascal ! 



I was standing in the road. 
Talking with Goodwife Proctor, and I 
saw him. 



COREY. 

With Proctor's wife ? And what says 
Goodwife Proctor ? 

MARTHA. 

Sad things indeed ; the saddest you 

can hear 
Of Bridget Bishop. She's cried out 

upon ! 

COREY. 

Poor soul! I've known her forty year 

or more : 
She was the widow Wasselby; and 

then 
She married Oliver, and Bishop next. 
She 's had three husbands. I remem- 
ber well 
My games of shovel-board at Bishop's 

tavern 
In the old merry days, and she so 

gay 40 

With her red paragon bodice and her 

ribbons ! 
Ah, Bridget Bishop always was a 

Witch! 

MARTHA. 

They '11 little help her now, — her 
caps and ribbons, 

And her red paragon bodice, and her 
plumes, 

With which she flaunted in the Meet- 
ing-house ! 

When next she goes there, it will be 
for trial. 

COREY. 

When will that be ? 

MARTHA. 

This very day at ten. 

COREY. 

Then get you ready. We will go and 

see it. 
Come ; you shall ride behind me on 

the pillion. 

MARTHA. 

Not I. You know I do not like such 
things. 50 

I wonder you should. I do not be- 
lieve 

In Witches nor in Witchcraft. 



COREY, 



Well, I do. 



662 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



There 's a strange fascination in it all, 
That draws me on and on, I know not 
why. 

MARTHA. 

What do we know of spirits good or 

ill, 
Or of their power to help us or to 

harm us ? 

COREY. 

Surely what 's in the Bible must be 

true. 
Did not an Evil Spirit come on Saul ? 
Did not the Witch of Endor bring the 

ghost 
Of Samuel from his grave ? The Bible 

says so. 60 

MARTHA. 

That happened very long ago. 



COREY. 



There is no long ago. 



With God 



MARTHA. 

There is with us. 

COREY. 

And Mary Magdalene had seven 

devils, 
And he who dwelt among the tombs 

a legion ! 

MARTHA. 

God's power is infinite. I do not doubt 
it. 

If in His providence He once per- 
mitted 

Such things to be among the Israel- 
ites, 

It does not follow He permits them 
now, 

And among us who are not Israelites. 

But we will not dispute about it, 
Giles. 70 

Go to the village, if you think it best, 

And leave me here ; I '11 go about my 
work. [Exit into the house. 

COREY. 

And I will go and saddle the gray 
mare. 

The last word always. That is wo- 
man's nature. 

If an old man will marry a young 
wife, 



He must make up his mind to many 
things. 

It 's putting new cloth into an old 
garment, 

When the strain comes, it is the old 
gives way. 

Goes to ttie door. 

Oh Martha! I forgot to tell you 
something. 

I've had a letter from a friend of 
mine, 80 

A certain Richard Gardner of Nan- 
tucket, 

Master and owner of a whaling- 
vessel ; 

He writes that he is coming down to 
see us. 

I hope you '11 like him. 

MARTHA. 

I will do my best. 

COREY. 

That's a good woman. Now I will 

be gone. 
I 've not seen Gardner for this twenty 

year; 
But there is something of the sea about 

him, — 
Something so open, generous, large, 

and strong, 
It makes me love him better than a 

brother. [Exit. 

martha comes to the door. 

MARTHA. 

Oh these old friends and cronies of my 

husband, 90 

These captains from Nantucket and 

the Cape, 
That come and turn my house into a 

tavern 
With their carousing! Still, there's 

something frank 
In these seafaring men that makes me 

like them. 
Why, here 's a horseshoe nailed upon 

the doorstep ! 
Giles has done this to keep away the 

Witches. 
I hope this Richard Gardner will bring 

with him 
A gale of good sound common-sense 

to blow 
The fog of these delusions from his 

brain ! 99 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



663 



corey {within). 
Ho! Martha! Martha! 

Enter Corey. 
Have you seen my saddle ? 

MARTHA. 

I saw it yesterday. 

COREY. 

Where did you see it? 

MARTHA. 

On a gray mare, that somebody was 

riding 
Along the village road. 



COREY. 

Who was it 



Tell me. 



MARTHA. 

Some one who should have stayed at 
home. 

coREr {restraining himself). 

I see ! 
Don't vex me, Martha. Tell me where 
it is. 



MARTHA. 

I've hidden it away. 

COREY. 

Go fetch it me. 

MARTHA 

Go find it. 

COREY. 

No. I'll ride down to the village 
Bare-back ; and when the people stare 

and say, 
"Giles Corey, where 's your saddle ?" 

I will answer, 
"A Witch has stolen it." How shall 

you like that ? no 

MARTHA. 

I shall not like it. 

COREY. 

Then go fetch the saddle. 

[Exit Martha. 

If an old man will marry a young 

wife, 
Why then — why then — why then — 
he must spell Baker ! 




Go to the village, if you think it best, 

And leave me here ; I '11 go about my work 



66 4 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Enter Maktha with the saddle, which 
she throws down. 

MARTHA. 

There ! There 's the saddle. 

COREY. 

Take it up. 

MARTHA. 

I won't ! 

COREY. 

Then let it lie there. I '11 ride to the 

village, 
And say you are a Witch. 

MARTHA. 

No, not that, Giles. 
She takes up the saddle. 

COREY. 

Now come with me, and saddle the 

gray mare 
With your own hands ; and you shall 

see me ride 
Along the village road as is becoming 
Giles Corey of the Salem Farms, your 

husband I 120 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. — The Green in front of the 
Meeting-house in Salem milage. Peo- 
ple coming and going. Enter Giles 
Corey. 

COREY. 

A melancholy end ! Who would have 
thought 

That Bridget Bishop e'er would come 
to this? 

Accused, convicted, and condemned to 
death 

For Witchcraft ! And so good a wo- 
man too! 

A FARMER. 

Good morrow, neighbor Corey. 

corey {not hearing him). 

Who is safe ? 
How do I know but under my own 

roof 
I too mav harbor Witches, and some 

Devil 
Be plotting and contriving against 

me? 



PARMER. 

He does not hear. Good morrow, 
neighbor Corey ! 9 



COREY. 



Good morrow. 



FARMER. 

Have you seen John Proctor lately ? 

COREY. 

No, I have not. 

FARMER. 

Then do not see him, Corey. 

COREY. 

Why should I not ? 

FARMER. 

Because he 's angry with you. 
So keep out of his way. Avoid a 
quarrel. 

COREY. 

Why does he seek to fix a quarrel on 
me? 

FARMER. 

He says you burned his house. 

COREY. 

I burn his house ? 
If he says that, John Proctor is a liar ! 
The night his house was burned I was 

in bed, 
And I can prove it ! Why, we are old 

friends ! 
He could not say that of me. 



FARMER. 



I heard him say it. 



He did say it. 



COREY. 

Then he shall unsay it. 20 

FARMER. 

He said you did it out of spite to him 
For taking part against you in the 

quarrel 
You had with your John Gloyd about 

his wages. 
He says you murdered Good ell ; that 

you trampled 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



66 S 



Upon his body till he breathed no 
more. 

And so beware of him ; that 's my ad- 
vice ! [Exit. 

COREY. 

By Heaven! this is too much! I'll 
seek him out. 

And make him eat his words, or stran- 
gle him. 

I '11 not be slandered at a time like this, 

When every word is made an accusa- 
tion, 3° 

When every whisper kills, and every 
man 

Walks with a halter round his neck ! 
Enter Gloyd in haste. 

What now ? 

GLOYD. 

I came to look for you. The cattle — 

COREY. 

Well, 
What of them ? Have you found 
them? 

GLOYD. 

They are dead. 
I followed them through the woods, 

across the meadows ; 
Then they all leaped into the Ipswich 

River, 
And swam across, but could not climb 

the bank, 
And so were drowned. 

COREY. 

You are to blame for this , 
For you took down the bars, and let 
them loose. 

GLOYD. 

That I deny. They broke the fences 
down. 40 

You know they were bewitched. 

COREY, 

Ah, my poor cattle ! 
The Evil Eye was on them ; that is 

true. 
Day of disaster 1 Most unlucky day ! 
Why did I leave my ploughing and 

my reaping 
To plough and reap this Sodom and 

Gomorrah ? 
Oh, I could drown myself for sheer 

vexation J [Exit. 



GLOYD. 

He 's going for his cattle. He won't 

find them. 
By this time they have drifted out to 

sea. 
They will not break his fences any 

more, 
Though they may break his heart. 

And what care I ? 50 

[Exit. 

Scene III. — Corey's kitchen. A table 
with supper. Martha knitting. 

MARTHA. 

He 's come at last. I hear him in the 

passage. 
Something has gone amiss with him 

to-day ; 
I know it by his step, and by the 

sound 
The door made as he shut it. He is 

angry. 
Enter Corey with his riding-whip. As 
he speaks he takes off his hat and 
gloves, and throws them down vio- 
lently. 

COREY. 

I say if Satan ever entered man 
He 's in John Proctor ! 

MARTHA. 

Giles, what is the matter ? 
You frighten me. 

COREY. 

I say if any man 
Can have a Devil in him, then that 

man 
Is Proctor, — is John Proctor, and no 

other ! 9 

MARTHA. 

Why, what has he been doing ? 

COREY. 

Everything ! 
What do you think I heard there in 
the village ? 

MARTHA. 

I'm sure I cannot guess. What did 
you hear ? 

COREY. 

He says I burned his house I 



666 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



MARTHA. 

Does he say that ? 

COREY. 

He says I burned his house. I was in 

bed 
And fast asleep that night ; and I can 

prove it. 

MARTHA. 

If he says that, I think the Father of 

Lies 
Is surely in the man. 

COREY. 

He does say that, 
And that I did it to wreak vengeance 

on him 
For taking sides against me in the 

quarrel 
I had with that John Gloyd about his 

wages. 20 

And God knows that I never bore him 

malice 
For that, as I have told him twenty 

times ! 

MARTHA. 

It is John Gloyd has stirred him up to 
this. 

I do not. like that Gloyd. I think 
him crafty, 

Not to be trusted, sullen, and untruth- 
ful. 

Come, have your supper. You are 
tired and hungry. 

COREY. 

I 'm angry, and not hungry. 

MARTHA. 

Do eat something. 
You '11 be the better for it. 

corey {sitting down). 

I 'm not hungry. 

MARTHA. 

Let not the sun go down upon your 
wrath. 

COREY. 

It has gone down upon it, and will 
rise 30 

To-morrow, and go down again upon 
it. 



They have trumped up against me 

the old story 
Of causing Goodell's death by tram- 

pling on him. 

MARTHA. 

Oh, that is false. I know it to be 
false. 

COREY. 

He has been dead these fourteen years 

or more. 
Why can't they let him rest ? Why 

must they drag him 
Out of his grave to give me a bad 

name ? 
I did not kill him. In his bed he 

. died, 
As most men die, because his hour 

had come. 
I have wronged no man. Why should 

Proctor say 40 

Such things about me ? I will not 

forgive him 
Till he confesses he has slandered me. 
Then, I 've more trouble. All my 

cattle gone. 

MARTHA. 

They will come back again. 

COREY. 

Not in this world. 

Did I not tell you they were over- 
looked ? 

They ran down through the woods, 
into the meadows, 

And tried to swim the river, and were 
drowned. 

It is a heavy loss. 

MARTHA. 

I 'm sorry for it. 

COREY. 

All my dear oxen dead. I loved them, 

Martha, 
Next to yourself. I liked to look at 

them, so 

And watch the breath come out of 

their wide nostrils, 
And see their patient eyes. Somehow 

I thought 
It gave me strength only to look at 

them. 
And how they strained their necks 

against the yoke 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



667 




" Let not the sun go down upon your wrath " 



If I but spoke, or touched them with 

the goad! 
They were my friends; and when 

Gloyd came and told me 
They were all drowned, I could have 

drowned myself 
From sheer vexation; and I said as 

much 
To Gloyd and others. 

MARTHA. 

Do hot trust John Gloyd 

With anything you would not have 

repeated. 60 

COREY. 

As I came through the woods this 
afternoon, 

Impatient at my loss, and much per- 
plexed > 

With all that I had heard there in the 
village, 

The yellow leaves lit up the trees 
about me 

Like an enchanted palace, and I 
wished 

I knew enough of magic or of Witch- 
craft 



To change them into gold. Then sud- 
denly 

A tree shook down some crimson 
leaves upon me, 

Like drops of blood, and in the path 
before me 

Stood Tituba the Indian, the old 
crone. 70 

MARTHA. 

Were you not frightened ? 

COREY. 

No, I do not think 
I know the meaning of that word. 

Why frightened ? 
I am not one of those who think the 

Lord 
Is waiting till He catches them some 

day 
In the back yard alone ! What should 

I fear ? 
She started from the bushes by the 

path, 
And had a basket full of herbs and 

roots 
For some witch-broth or other, — the 

old hag ! 



668 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



MARTHA. 

She has been here to-day. 

COREY. 

With hand outstretched 

She said : " Giles Corey, will you sign 
the Book ? " 80 

"Avaunt!" I cried: "Get thee be- 
hind me, Satan ! " 

At which she laughed and left me. 
But a voice 

Was whispering in my ear continu- 
ally: 

"Self-murder is no crime. The life 
of man 

Is his, to keep it or to throw away ! " 

MARTHA. 

*T was a temptation of the Evil One ! 
Giles, Giles! why will you harbor 
these dark thoughts ? 



COREY (r 

I am too tired to talk. I'll go to 
bed. 

MARTHA. 

First tell me something about Bridget 

Bishop. 
How did she look? You saw her? 

You were there ? 90 

COREY. 

I'll tell you that to-morrow, not to- 
night. 
I '11 go to bed. 

MARTHA. 

First let us pray together. 

COREY. 

I cannot pray to-night. 

MARTHA. 

Say the Lord's Prayer, 
And that will comfort you. 

COREY. 

I cannot say, 
" As we forgive those that have sinned 

against us," 
When I do not forgive them. 

martha (kneeling on the hearth). 
God forgive you ! 



COREY. 

I will not make believe! I say, to- 
night 

There 's something thwarts me when 
I wish to pray, 

And thrusts into my mind, instead of 
prayers, 

Hate and revenge, and things that are 
not prayers. 100 

Something of my old self, — my old, 
bad life, — 

And the old Adam in me, rises up 

And will not let me pray. I am 
afraid 

The Devil hinders me. You know I 
say 

Just what I think, and nothing more 
nor less, 

And, when I pray, my heart is in my 
prayer. 

I cannot say one thing and. mean an- 
other. 

If I can't pray, I will not make be- 
lieve ! 

[Exit Corey. Martha continues kneel- 
ing. 



ACT III 

Scene I. — Giles Corey's kitchen. 
Morning. Corey and Martha sit- 
ting at the breakfast-table. 

corey (rising). 
Well, now I 've told you all I saw and 

heard 
Of Bridget Bishop ; and I must be 

gone. 

MARTHA. 

Don't go into the village, Giles, to- 
day. 

Last night you came back tired and 
out of humor. 

COREY. 

Say, angry ; say, right angry. I was 

never 
In a more devilish temper in my life. 
All things went wrong with me. 

MARTHA. 

You were much vexed ; 
So don't go to the village. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



669 



corey (going). 

No, I won't. 
I won't go near it. We are going to 

mow 
The Ipswich meadows for the after- 
math, 10 
The crop of sedge and rowens. 

MARTHA. 

Stay a moment. 
I want to tell you what I dreamed 

last night. 
Do you believe in dreams ? 

COREY. 

Why, yes and no. 
When they come true, then I believe 

in them ; 
When they come false, I don't believe 

in them. 
But let me hear. What did you 

dream about ? 

MARTHA. 

I dreamed that you and I were both in 

prison ; 
That we had fetters on our hands and 

feet: 



That we were taken before the Magis- 
trates, 

And tried for Witchcraft, and con- 
demned to death ! 20 

I wished to pray ; they would not let 
me pray ; 

You tried to comfort me, and they 
forbade it. 

But the most dreadful thing in all my 
dream 

Was that they made you testify 
against me ! 

And then there came a kind of mist 
between us; 

I could not see you ; and I woke in 
terror. 

I never was more thankful in my 
life 

Than when I found you sleeping at 
my side ! 




May not the Devil take the outward shape 
Of innocent persons ? " 



670 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



coret {with tenderness). 

It was our talk last night that made 
you dream. 

I 'm sorry for it. 1 11 control myself 30 

Another time, and keep my temper 
down ! 

I do not like such dreams. — Remem- 
ber, Martha, 

I 'm going to mow the Ipswich River 
meadows ; 

If Gardner comes, you'll tell him 
where to find me. [Exit. 

MARTHA. 

So this delusion grows from bad to 

worse. 
First, a forsaken and forlorn old wo- 
man, 
Ragged and wretched, and without a 

friend ; 
Then something higher. Now it's 

Bridget Bishop ; 
God only knows whose turn it will be 

next! 
The Magistrates are blind, the people 

mad ! 40 

If they would only seize the Afflicted 

Children, 
And put them in the Workhouse, 

where they should be, 
There 'd be an end of all this wicked- 

[Exit. 



Scene II. — A street in Salem 
Enter Mather and Hathorne. 

MATHER. 

Yet one thing troubles me. 

HATHORNE. 

And what is that? 

MATHER. 

May not the Devil take the outward 

shape 
Of innocent persons ? Are we not in 

danger, 
Perhaps, of punishing some who are 

not guilty? 

HATHORNE. 

As I have said, we do not trust alone 
To spectral evidence. 

MATHER. 

And then again, 



If any shall be put to death for Witch- 
craft, 

We do but kill the body, not the soul. 

The Unclean Spirits that possessed 
them once 9 

Live still, to enter into other bodies. 

What have we gained? Surely, 
there 's nothing gained. 

HATHORNE. 

Doth not the Scripture say, "Thou 

shalt not suffer 
A Witch to live?" 

MATHER. 

The Scripture sayeth it, 
But speaketh to the Jews ; and we are 

Christians. 
What say the laws of England ? 

HATHORNE. 

They make Witchcraft 

Felony without the benefit of Clergy. 

Witches are burned in England. You 
have read — 

For you read all things, not a book es- 
capes you — 

The famous Demonology of King 
James ? 

MATHER. 

A curious volume. I remember also 20 
The plot of the Two Hundred, with 

one Fian, 
The Registrar of the Devil, at their 

head. 
To drown his Majesty on his return 
From Denmark ; how they sailed in 

sieves or riddles 
Unto North Berwick Kirk in Lothian, 
And, landing there, danced hand in 

hand, and sang, 
" Goodwife, go ye before ! goodwife, 

go ye! 
If ye '11 not go before, goodwife, let 

me!" 
While Geilis Duncan played the 

Witches' Reel 29 

Upon a jews-harp. 

HATHORNE. 

Then you know full well 
The English law, and that in England 

Witches, 
When lawfully convicted and at- 
tainted, 
Are put to death. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



671 



MATHER. 

When lawfully convicted ; 
That is the point. 

HATHORNE. 

You heard the evidence 
Produced before us yesterday at the 

trial 
Of Bridget Bishop. 

MATHER. 

One of the Afflicted, 

I know, bore witness to the appari- 
tion 

Of ghosts unto the spectre of this 
Bishop, 

Saying, "You murdered us!" of the 
truth whereof 

There was in matter of fact too much 
suspicion. 40 

HATHORNE. 

And when she cast her eyes on the 

Afflicted, 
They were struck down; and this in 

such a manner 
There could be no collusion in the 

business. 
And when the accused but laid her 

hand upon them, 
As they lay in their swoons, they 

straight revived, 
Although they stirred not when the 

others touched them. 

MATHER. 

What most convinced me of the wo- 
man's guilt 

Was finding hidden in her cellar wall 

Those poppets made of rags, with 
headless pins 

Stuck into them point outwards, and 
whereof 50 

She could not give a reasonable ac- 
count. 

HATHORNE. 

When you shall read the testimony 

given 
Before the Court in all the other 

cases, 
I am persuaded you will find the 

proof 
No less conclusive than it was in this 
Come, then, with me, and I will tax 

your patience 



With reading of the documents so far 

As may convince you that these sor- 
cerers 

Are lawfully convicted and attainted. 

Like doubting Thomas, you shall lay 
your hand 60 

Upon these wounds, and you will 
doubt no more. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. — A room in Corey's 
house. Martha and two Deacons 
of the church. 

MARTHA. 

Be seated. I am glad to see you here. 
I know what you are come for. You 

are come 
To question me, and learn from my 

own lips 
If I have any dealings with the Devil ; 
In short, if I 'm a Witch. 

deacon {sitting down). 

Such is our purpose. 
How could you know beforehand 
why we came? 

MARTHA. 

'T was only a surmise. 

DEACON. 

We came to ask you r 
You being with us in church cove- 
nant, 
What part you have, if any, in these 
matters. 

MARTHA. 

And I make answer, No part what- 
soever. 10 

I am a farmer's wife, a working wo- 
man; 

You see my spinning-wheel, you see 
my loom, , 

You know the duties of a farmer's 
wife, 

And are not ignorant that my life 
among you 

Has been without reproach until this 
day. 

Is it not true ? 

DEACON. 

So much we 're bound to own ; 
And say it frankly, and without re- 
serve. 



672 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 






MARTHA. 

I've heard the idle tales that are 

abroad ; 
I 've heard it whispered that I am a 

Witch; 
I cannot help it. I do not believe 20 
In any Witchcraft. It is a delusion, 

DEACON. 

How can you say that it is a delusion, 
When all our learned and good men 

believe it ? — 
Our Ministers and worshipful Magis- 
trates ? 

MARTHA. 

Their eyes are blinded, and see not 

the truth. 
Perhaps one day they will be open to 

it. 

DEACON. 

You answer boldly. The Afflicted 

Children 
Say you appeared to them. 

MARTHA. 

And did they say 
What clothes I came in ? 

DEACON. 

No, they could not tell. 
They said that you foresaw our visit 

here, 30 

And blinded them, so that they could 

not see 
The clothes you wore. 

MARTHA. 

The cunning, crafty girls ! 
I say to you, in all sincerity, 
I never have appeared to any one 
In my own person. If the Devil takes 
My shape to hurt these children, or 

' afflict them, 
I am not guilty of it. And I say 
It 's all a mere delusion of the senses. 

DEACON. 

I greatly fear that you will find too 
late 39 

It is not so. 

martha (rising). 
They do accuse me falsely. 
It is delusion, or it is deceit. 



There is a story in the ancient Scrip- 
tures 

Which much I wonder comes not to 
your minds. 

Let me repeat it to you. 

DEACON. 

We will hear it. 

MARTHA. 

It came to pass that Naboth had a 

vineyard 
Hard by the palace of the King called 

Ahab. 
And Ahab, King of Israel, spake to 

Naboth, 
And said to him, Give unto me thy 

vineyard, 
That I may have it for a garden of 

herbs, 
And I will give a better vineyard for 

it, 50 

Or, if it seemeth good to thee, its 

worth 
In money. And then Naboth said to 

Ahab, 
The Lord forbid it me that I should 

give 
The inheritance of my fathers unto 

thee. 
And Ahab came into his house dis- 
pleased 
And heavy at the words which Na- 

both spake, 
And laid him down upon his bed, and 

turned . 
His face away ; and he would eat no 

bread. 
And Jezebel, the wife of Ahab, came 
And said to him, Why is thy spirit 

sad ? 60 

And he said unto her, Because I spake 
To Naboth, to the Jezreelite, and 

said, 
Give me thy vineyard; and he an- 
swered, saying, 
I will not give my vineyard unto thee. 
And Jezebel, the wife of Ahab, said, 
Dost thou not rule the realm of Is- 
rael ? 
Arise, eat bread, and let thy heart be 

merry ; 
I will give Naboth's vineyard unto 

thee. 
So she wrote letters in King Ahab's 

name, 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



673 



And sealed them with his seal, and 

sent the letters 70 

Unto the elders that were in his city 
Dwelling with Naboth, and unto the 

nobles ; 
And in the letters wrote, Proclaim a 

fast; 
And set this Naboth high among the 

people, 
And set two men, the sons of Belial, 
Before him, to bear witness and to say, 
Thou didst blaspheme against God 

- and the King ; 
And carry him out and stone him, 

that he die ! 
A.nd the elders and the nobles in the 

city 79 

Did even as Jezebel, the wife of Ahab, 
Had sent to them and written in the 

letters. 

And then it came to pass, when Ahab 

heard 
Naboth was dead, that Ahab rose to go 
Down unto Naboth' s vineyard, and to 

take 
Possession of it. And the word of 

God 
Came to Elijah, saying to him, Arise, 
Go down to meet the King of Israel 
In Naboth' s vineyard, whither he hath 

gone 
To take possession. Thou shalt speak 

to him, 
Saying, Thus saith the Lord! What! 

hast thou killed 90 

And also taken possession? In the 

place 
Wherein the dogs have licked the 

blood of Naboth 
Shall the dogs lick thy blood, — ay, 

even thine ! 

Both of the Deacons start from their 



And Ahab then, the King of Israel, 
Said, Hast thou found me, O mine 

enemy ? 
Elijah the Prophet answered, I have 

found thee ! 
So will it be with those who have 

stirred up 
The Sons of Belial here to bear false 

witness 
And swear away the lives of innocent 

people ; 99 



Their enemy will find them out at last, 

The Prophet's voice will thunder, I 

have found thee ! [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. — Meadows on Ipswich 
River. Corey and his men mowing; 
Corey in advance. 

COREY. 

Well done, my men. You see, I lead 

the field ! 
I'm an old man, but I can swing a 

scythe 
Better than most of you, though you 

be younger. 
Hangs his scythe upon a tree. 

gloyd {aside to the others). 
How strong he is! It's supernatural. 
No man so old as he is has such 

strength. 
The Devil helps him ! 

corey {wiping his forehead). 

Now we '11 rest awhile, 
And take our nooning. What's the 

matter with you V 
You are not angry with me, — are 

you, Gloyd ? 
Come, come, we will not quarrel. 

Let 's be friends. 9 

It's an old story, that the Raven said, 
"Read the Third of Colossians and 

fifteenth." 

CLOYD. 

You're handier at the scythe, but I 

can beat you 
At wrestling. 

COREY. 

Well, perhaps so. I don't know. 
I never wrestled with you. Why : 

you 're vexed ! 
Come, come, don't bear a grudge. 

GLOYD. 

You are afraid. 

COREY. 

What should I be afraid of ? All 

bear witness 
The challenge comes from him. Now, 

then, my man. 
They wrestle, and Gloyd is thrown. 



674 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 




Sb«f 



Corey and Gloyd wrestling 



ONE OF THE MEN. 

That 's a fair fall. 

ANOTHER. 

'T was nothing but a foil ! 

OTHERS. 

You 've hurt him ! 

corey {helping gloyd rise). 
No; this meadow -land is soft. 
You 're not hurt, — are you, Gloyd ? 

gloyd {rising). 

No, not much hurt. 

COREY. 

Well, then, shake hands; and there's 
an end of it. 21 

How do you like that Cornish hug, my 
lad? 

And now we '11 see what 's in our 
basket here. 

gloyd {aside). 
The Devil and all his imps are in that 

man ! 
The clutch of his , ten fingers burns 

like fire ! 



corey {reverentially taking off Ms hat). 
God bless the food He hath provided 

for us, 
And make us thankful for it, for 

Christ's sake ! 
Re lifts up a keg of cider, and drinks 
from it. 

gloyd. 

Do you see that ? Don't tell me it 's 

not Witchcraft. 
Two of us could not lift that cask as 

he does ! 29 

corey puts down the keg, and opens a 
basket. A voice is heard calling. 

VOICE. 

Ho! Corey, Corey! 

COREY. 

What is that ? I surely 
Heard some one calling me by name ! 

VOICE. 

Giles Corey ! 
Enter a boy, running, and out of 
breath. 



THE NEW ENGLANt) TRAGEDIES 



6 75 



BOY. 

Is Master Corey here ? 

COREY. 

Yes, here I am. 

BOY. 

Master Corey ! 

COREY. 

Well? 

BOY. 

Your wife — your wife — 

COREY. 

What's happened to my wife ? 

BOY. 

She 's sent to prison! 



COREY. 

The dream! the dream! 
merciful ! 



O God, be 



BOY. 

She sent me here to tell you. 

corey {putting on Ms jacket). 

Where 's my horse ? 
Don't stand there staring, fellows. 
Where's my horse? 

[Exit Corey. 

GLOYD. 

Under the trees there. Run, old man, 
run, run! 

You 've got some one to wrestle with 
you now 

Who'll trip your heels up, with your 
Cornish hug. 40 

If there's a Devil, he has got you 
now. 

Ah, there he goes ! His horse is snort- 
ing fire ! 

ONE OF THE MEN. 

John Gloyd, don't talk so! It's a 

shame to talk so ! 
He 's a good master, though you 

quarrel with him. 

GLOYD. 

If hard work and low wages make 
good masters. 

Then he is one. But I think other- 
wise. 



Come, let us have our dinner and be 

merry, 
And talk about the old man and the 

Witches. 
I know some stories that will make you 

laugh. 

They sit down on the grass, and eat. 

Now there are Goody Cloyse and 
Goody Good, 50 

Who have not got a decent tooth be- 
tween them, 

And yet these children — the Afflicted 
Children — 

Say that they bite them, and show 
marks of teeth 

Upon their arms ! 

ONE OF THE MEN. 

That makes the wonder greater. 
That 's Witchcraft. Why, if they had 

teeth like yours, 
'T would be no wonder if the girls 

were bitten ! 

GLOYD. 

And then those ghosts that come out 

of their graves 
And cry, "You murdered us! you 

murdered us ! " 

ONE OF THE MEN. 

And all those Apparitions that stick 
pins 

Into the flesh of the Afflicted Chil- 
dren ! 60 

GLOYD. 

Oh those Afflicted Children! They 

know well 
Where the pins come from. I can tell 

you that. 
And there's old Corey, he has got a 

horseshoe 
Nailed on his doorstep to keep off the 

Witches, 
And all the same his wife has gone to 

prison. 

ONE OF THE MEN. 

Oh, she's no Witch. I'll swear that 
Goodwife Corey 

Never did harm to any living crea- 
ture. 

She's a good woman, if there ever 
was one. 



676 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



GLOYD. 

Well, we shall see. As for that 

Bridget Bishop, 
She has been tried before ; some years 

ago 70 

A negro testified he saw her shape 
Sitting upon the rafters in a barn, 
And holding in its hand an egg ; and 

while 
He went to fetch his pitchfork, she 

had vanished. 
And now be quiet, will you? I am 

tired, 
And want to sleep here on the grass a 

little. 
They stretch themselves on the grass. 

ONE OF THE MEN. 

There may be Witches riding through 

the air 
Over our heads on broomsticks at this 

moment, 
Bound for some Satan's Sabbath in the 

woods 79 

To be baptized. 

GLOYD. 

I wish they'd take you with them, 
And hold you under water, head and 

ears, 
Till you were drowned ; and that 

would stop your talking, 
If nothing else will. Let me sleep, I 

say. 

ACT IV 

Scene I. — The green in front of the 
village Meeting - house. An excited 
crowd gathering. Enter John Gloyd. 

a farmer. 
Who will be tried to-day ? 

a second. 

I do not know. 
Here is John Gloyd. Ask him; he 



knows. 



FARMER. 



John Gloyd, 
Whose turn is it to-day ? 

GLOYD. 

It 's Goodwif e Corey's. 

FARMER. 

Giles Corey's wife ? 



GLOYD. 

The same. She is not mine. 
It will go hard with her, with all her 

praying. 
The hypocrite ! She 's always on her 

knees ; 
But she prays to the Devil when she 

prays. 
Let us go in. 

A trumpet Mows. 

FARMER. 

Here come the Magistrates. 

SECOND FARMER. 

Who 's the tall man in front? 

GLOYD. 

Oh, that is Hathorne, 

A Justice of the Court, and Quarter- 
master 10 

In the Three County Troop. He '11 
sift the matter. 

That 's Corwin with him ; and the man 
in black 

Is Cotton Mather, Minister of Boston. 

Enter Hathorne and other Magistrates 
on horseback, folloioed by the Sheriff, 
constables, and attendants on foot. 
The Magistrates dismount, and enter 
the Meeting-house, with the rest. 

FARMER. 

The Meeting-house is full. I never 

saw 
So great a crowd before. 

GLOYD. 

No matter. Come. 

We shall find room enough by elbow- 
ing 

Our way among them. Put your 
shoulder to it. 

FARMER. 

There were not half so many at the 

trial 
Of Goodwife Bishop. 

GLOYD. 

Keep close after me. 
I'll find a place for you. They'll 

want me there. 20 

I am a friend of Corey's, as you know, 
And he can't do without me just at 

present. [Exeunt. 






THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



677 



Scene II. — Interior of the Meeting- 
house. Mather and the Magistrates 
seated in front of the pulpit. Before 
them a raised platform. Martha in 
chains. Corey near her. Mary 
Walcot in a chair. A crowd of 
spectators, among them Gloyd. Con- 
fusion and murmurs during the 
scene. 

HATHORNE. 

Call Martha Corey. 

MARTHA. 

I am here. 

HATHORNE. 

Come forward. 

She ascends the platform. 
The Jurors of our Sovereign Lord and 

Lady 
The King and Queen, here present, do 

accuse you 
Of having on the tenth of June last 

past, 



And divers other times before and 
after, 

Wickedly used and practised certain 
arts 

Called Witchcrafts, Sorceries, and In- 
cantations, 

Against one Mary Walcot, single 
woman, 

Of Salem Village ; by which wicked 
arts 

The aforesaid Mary Walcot was tor- 
mented, 10 

Tortured, afflicted, pined, consumed, 
and wasted, 

Against the peace of our Sovereign 
Lord and Lady 

The King and Queen, as well as of 
the Statute 

Made and provided in that case. 
What say you ? 

MARTHA. 

Before I answer, give me leave to 
pray. 




" Ah me ! ah me ! 
Oh, give me leave to pray ! " 



678 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



HATHORNE. 

We have not sent for you, nor are we 

here, 
To hear you pray, but to examine you 
In whatsoever is alleged against you. 
Why do you hurt this person ? 

MARTHA. 

I do not. 

I am not guilty of the charge against 

me. 20 

MARY. 

Avoid, she-devil! You may torment 

me now ! 
Avoid, avoid, Witch! 

MARTHA. 

I am innocent. 

I never had to do with any Witch- 
craft 

Since I was born. I am a gospel wo- 
man. 

MARY. 

You are a gospel Witch ! 

martha {clasping her hands). 

Ah me ! ah me ! 
Oh, give me leave to pray ! 

mary {stretching out her hands). 

She hurts me now. 
See, she has pinched my hands ! 

HATHORNE. 

Who made these marks 
Upon her hands ? 

MARTHA. 

I do not know. I stand 

Apart from her. I did not touch her 

hands. 29 

HATHORNE. 

Who hurt her then ? 

MARTHA. 

I know not. 



HATHORNE. 



She is bewitched ? 



Do you think 



MARTHA. 

Indeed I do not think so. 
I am no Witch, and have no faith in 
Witches. 



HATHORNE. 

Then answer me : When certain per- 
sons came 

To see you yesterday, how did you 
know 

Beforehand why they came ? 

MARTHA. 

I had had speech ; 
The children said I hurt them, and I 

thought 
These people came to question me 

about it. 

HATHORNE. 

How did you know the children had 

been told 
To note the clothes you wore ? 

MARTHA. 

My husband told me 
What others said about it. 

HATHORNE. 

Goodman Corey, 
Say, did you tell her ? 

COREY. 

I must speak the truth ; 

I did not tell her. It was some one 

else. 42 

HATHORNE. 

Did you not say your husband told 
you so ? 

How dare you tell a lie in this as- 
sembly ? 

Who told you of the clothes ? Con- 
fess the truth. 

Martha bites her lips, and is silent. 
You bite your lips, but do not answer 
me ! 

MARY. 

Ah, she is biting me ! Avoid, avoid ! 

HATHORNE. 

You said your husband told you. 

MARTHA. 

Yes, he told me 
The children said I troubled them. 

HATHORNE. 

Then tell me, 
Why do you trouble them ? 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



679 



MARTHA. 

I have denied it. 

MARY. 

She threatened me; stabbed at me 

with her spindle ; 51 

And, when my brother thrust her with 

his sword, 
He tore her gown, and cut a piece 

away. 
Here are they both, the spindle and 
. the cloth. 

Shows them. 

HATHORNE. 

And there are persons here who know 

the truth 
Of what has now been said. What 

answer make you ? 

MARTHA. 

I make no answer. Give me leave to 
pray. 

HATHORNE. 

Whom would you pray to ? 

MARTHA. 

To my God and Father. 

HATHORNE. 

Who is your God and Father ? 



The Almighty ! 

HATHORNE. 

Doth he you pray to say that he is 
God ? 60 

It is the Prince of Darkness, and not 
God. 

MARY. 

There is a dark shape whispering in 
her ear. 

HATHORNE. 

What does it say to you ? 



I see no shape. 

HATHORNE. 

Did you not hear it whisper ? 

MARTHA. 

I heard nothing, 



MARY. 

What torture! Ah, what agony I suf- 
fer! 

Falls into a swoon. 

HATHORNE. 

You see this woman cannot stand be- 
fore you. 

If you would look for mercy, you 
must look 

In God's way, by confession of your 
guilt. 

Why does your spectre haunt and 
hurt this person? 

MARTHA. 

I do not know. He who appeared of 
old 70 

In Samuel's shape, a saint and glori- 
fied, 

May come in whatsoever shape he 
chooses. 

I cannot help it. I am sick at heart ! 



Martha, Martha ! let me hold your 

hand. 

HATHORNE. 

No ; stand aside, old man. 

mary (starting up). 

Look there ! Look there ! 

1 see a little bird, a yellow bird, 
Perched on her finger ; and it pecks 

at me. 
Ah, it will tear mine eyes out ! 

MARTHA. 

I see nothing. 

HATHORNE. 

'T is the Familiar Spirit that attends 
her. 

MARY. 

Now it has flown away. It sits up 
there 80 

Upon the rafters. It is gone ; is van- 
ished. 

MARTHA. 

Giles, wipe these tears of anger from 

mine eyes. 
Wipe the sweat from my forehead. I 

am faint. 
She leans against the railing. 



68o 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



MARY. 


MARTHA. 


Oh, she is crushing me with all her 
weight 1 


I know no bird. 

HATHORNE. 


HATHORNE. 

Did you not carry once the Devil's 
Book 


Have you not dealt with a Familiar 
Spirit ? 


To this young woman ? 


MARTHA. 


MARTHA. 


No, never, never! 


Never. 


HATHORNE. 


HATHORNE. 

Have you signed it, 
Or touched it ? 


What then was the Book 

You showed to this young woman, 

and besought her 



MARTHA. 

No ; I never saw it. 

HATHORNE. 

Did vou not scourge her with an iron 
rod? 

MARTHA. 

No, I did not. If any Evil Spirit 
Has taken my shape to do these evil 
deeds, 90 

I cannot help it. I am innocent. 

HATHORNE. 

Did you not say the Magistrates were 

blind? 
That you would open their eyes ? 

martha {with a scornful laugh). 

Yes, I said that ; 
If you call me a sorceress, you are 

blind! 
If you accuse the innocent, you are 

blind! 
Can the innocent be guilty ? 

HATHORNE. 

Did you not 
On one occasion hide your husband's 

saddle 
To hinder him from coming to the 

Sessions ? 

MARTHA. 

I thought it was a folly in a farmer 
To waste his time pursuing such il- 
lusions, xoo 

HATHORNE. 

What was the bird that this young wo- 
man saw 
Just now upon your hand ? 



To write in it ? 

MARTHA. 

Where should I have a book? 
I showed her none, nor have none. 

MARY. 

The next Sabbath 
Is the Communion Day, but Martha 

Corey 
Will not be there ! 

MARTHA. 

Ah, you are all against m&. 
What can I do or say ? 

HATHORNE. 

You can confess. 

MARTHA. 

No, I cannot, for I am innocent. m 

HATHORNE. 

We have the proof of many witnesses 
That you are guilty. 

MARTHA. 

Give me leave to speak. 
Will you condemn me on such evi- 
dence, — 
You who have known me for so many 

years ? 
Will you condemn me in this house of 

God, 
Where I so long have worshipped 

with you all ? 
Where I have eaten the bread and 

drunk the wine 
So many times at our Lord's Table 

with you ? 
Bear witness, you that hear me ; you 

all know 120 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



68 1 



That I have led a blameless life among 
you, 

That never any whisper of suspicion 

Was breathed against me till this ac- 
cusation. 

And shall this count for nothing ? 
Will you take 

My life away from me, because this 
girl. 

Who is distraught, and not in her 
right mind, 

Accuses me of things I blush to name ? 

HATHORNE. 

What ! is it not enough? Would you 

hear more ? 
Giles Corey ! 

COREY. 

I am here. 

HATHORNE. 

Come forward, then. 
Corey ascends the platform. 
Is it not true, that on a certain night 
You were impeded strangely in your 

prayers ? 131 

That something hindered you? and 

that you left 
This woman here, your wife, kneeling 

alone 
Upon the hearth? 

COREY. 

Yes ; I cannot deny it. 

HATHORNE. 

Did you not say the Devil hindered 
you? 

COREY. 

I think I said some words to that 
effect. 

HATHORNE. 

Is it not true, that fourteen head of 

cattle, 
To you belonging, broke from their 

enclosure 
And leaped into the river, and were 

drowned ? 139 

COREY. 

It is most true. 

HATHORNE. 

And did you not then say 
That they were overlooked ? 



COREY. 

So much I said. 
I see ; they 're drawing round me 

closer, closer, 
A net I cannot break, cannot escape 

from ! 



HATHORNE. 

Who did these things? 

COREY. 

I do not know who did them. 

HATHORNE. 

Then I will tell you. It is some one 

near you ; 
You see her now ; this woman, your 

own wife. 

COREY. 

I call the heavens to witness, it is 

false ! 
She never harmed me, never hindered 

me 
In anything but what I should not do. 
And I bear witness in the sight of 

heaven, 150 

And in God's house here, that I never 

knew her 
As otherwise than patient, brave, and 

true, 
Faithful, forgiving, full of charity, 
A virtuous and industrious and good 

wife! 

HATHORNE. 

Tut, tut, man ; do not rant so in your 

speech ; 
You are a witness, not an advocate ! 
Here, Sheriff, take this woman back 

to prison. 

MARTHA. 

O Giles, this day you 've sworn away 
my life ! 

MARY. 

Go, go and join the Witches at the 

door. 
Do you not hear the drum ? Do you 

not see them ? 160 

Go quick. They 're waiting for you. 

You are late. 
[Exit Martha; Corey following. 

COREY. 

The dream! the dream! the dream! 



68 2 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



HATHORNE. 

What does lie say ? 
Giles Corey, go not hence. You are 

yourself 
Accused of Witchcraft and of Sorcery 
By many witnesses. Say, are you 

guilty ? 

COREY. 

I know my death is foreordained by 

you, — 
Mine and my wife's. Therefore I will 

not answer. 
During the rest of the scene he remains 
silent. 

HATHORNE. 

Do you refuse to plead ? — 'T were 

better for you 
To make confession, or to plead Not 

Guilty. — 
Do you not hear me ? — Answer, are 

you guilty ? 170 

Do you not know a heavier doom 

awaits you, 
If you refuse to plead, than if found 

guilty? 
Where is John Gloyd ? 

• gloyd {coming forward). 
Here am I. 

HATHORNE. 

Tell the Court: 
Have you not seen the supernatural 

power 
Of this old man ? Have you not seen 

him do 
Strange feats of strength ? 

GLOYD. 

I 've seen him lead the field, 
On a hot day, in mowing, and against 
Us younger men ; and I have wrestled 

with him. 
He threw me like a feather. I have. 

seen him 
Lift up a barrel with his single hands, 
Which two strong men could hardly 

lift together, 181 

And, holding it above his head, drink 

from it. 

HATHORNE. 

That is enough ; we need not question 
further. 



What answer do you make to this, 
Giles Corey ? 

MARY. 

See there ! See there ! 

HATHORNE. 

What is it ? I see nothing. 

MARY. 

Look ! Look ! It is the ghost of 

Robert Goodell, 
Whom fifteen years ago this man did 

murder 
By stamping on his body! In his 

shroud 
He comes here to bear witness to the 

crime ! 
The crowd shrinks back from Corey 
in horror. 

HATHORNE. 

Ghosts of the dead and voices of the 

living 190 

Bear witness to your guilt, and you 

must die! 
It might have been an easier death. 

Your doom 
Will be on your own head, and not on 

ours. 
Twice more will you be questioned of 

these things ; 
Twice more have room to plead or to 

confess. 
If you are contumacious to the Court, 
And if, when questioned, you refuse to 

answer, 
Then by the Statute you will be con- 
demned 
To the peine forte et dure! To have 

your body 
Pressed by great weights until you 

shall be dead ! 200 

And may the Lord have mercy on 

your soul ! 

ACT Y 

Scene I. — CoREY's/#rm as in Act II. , 
Scene I. Enter Richard Gardner, 
looking round him. 

GARDNER. 

Here stands the house as I remember 

it, 
The four tall poplar-trees before the 

door: 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



683 



J 




1 


jg 


r 




' ""- ~^j0^g?Z^^ ~=^Lr-- 





Look ! Look ! It is the ghost of Robert Goodell " 



The house, the barn, the orchard, and 

the well, 
With its moss-covered bucket and its 

trough ; 
The garden, with its hedge of currant- 
bushes : 
The woods, the harvest- fields ; and, 

far beyond, 
The pleasant landscape stretching to 

the sea. 
But everything is silent and deserted ! 
No bleat of flocks, no bellowing of 

herds, 
No sound of flails, that should be 

beating now ; 10 

Nor man nor beast astir. What can 

this mean ? 

Knocks at the door. 

What ho! Giles Corey! Hillo-ho! 

Giles Corey ! — 
No answer but the echo from the 

barn, 
And the ill-omened cawing of the crow, 



That yonder wings his flight across 

the fields, 
As if he scented carrion in the air. 

Enter Tituba with a basket. 

What woman 's this, that, like an ap- 
parition, 

Haunts this deserted homestead in 
broad day ? 

Woman, who are you ? 

TITUBA. 

I 'm Tituba. 

I am John Indian's wife. I am a 

Witch. 20 

GARDNER. 

What are you doing here ? 

TITUBA. 

I am gathering herbs, — 
Cinquefoil, and saxifrage, and penny- 
royal. 



68 4 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Gardner {looking at the herbs). 
This is not cinquefoil, it is deadly 

nightshade ! 
This is not saxifrage, but hellebore ! 
This is not pennyroyal, it is henbane! 
Do you come here to poison these good 

people? 

TITUBA. 

I get these for the Doctor in the Vil- 
lage. 

Beware of Tituba. I pinch the chil- 
dren ; 

Make little poppets and stick pins in 
them, 

And then the children cry out they 
are pricked. . 30 

The Black Dog came to me, and said, 
' ' Serve me ! " 

I was afraid. He made me hurt the 
children. 

GARDNER. 

Poor soul! She 's crazed, with all 
these Devil's doings. 

TITUBA. 

Will you, sir, sign the Book ? 

GARDNER. 

No, I '11 not sign it. 
Where is Giles Corey ? Do you know 
Giles Corey ? 

TITUBA. 

He 's safe enough. He 's down there 
in the prison. 

GARDNER. 

Corey in prison ? What is he accused 
of? 

TITUBA. 

Giles Corey and Martha Corey are in 

prison 
Down there in Salem Village. Both 

are Witches. 
She came to me and whispered, "Kill 

the children ! " 40 

Both signed the book! 

GARDNER. 

Begone, you imp of darkness ! 
You Devil's dam ! 

TITUBA. 

Beware of Tituba! 
{Exit. 



GARDNER. 

How often out at sea on stormy nights, 

When the waves thundered round me, 
and the* wind 

Bellowed, and beat the canvas, and 
my ship 

Clove through the solid darkness, like 
a wedge, 

I 've thought of him, upon his plea- 
sant farm, 

Living in quiet with his thrifty houses 
wife, 

And envied him, and wished his fate 
were mine ! 

And now I find him shipwrecked ut- 
terly, 50 

Drifting upon this sea of sorceries, 

And lost, perhaps, beyond all aid of 
man ! [Exit. 

Scene II. — The prison. Giles Corey 
at a table on which are some papers. 

COREY. 

Now I have done with earth and all 

its cares ; 
I give my worldly goods to my dear 

children ; 
My body I bequeath to my tormentors, 
And my immortal soul to Him who 

made it. 
O God! who in thy wisdom dost af- 
flict me 
With an affliction greater than most 

men 
Have ever yet endured or shall endure, 
Suffer me not in this last bitter hour 
For any pains of death to fall from 
thee! 

Martha is heard singing. 

Arise, righteous Lord ! 10 

And disappoint my foes; 
They are but thine avenging sword, 

Whose wounds are swift to close. 

COREY. 

Hark, hark ! it is her voice ! She is 

not dead ! 
She lives ! I am not utterly forsaken ! 

martha, singing. 
By thine abounding grace, 

And mercies multiplied, 
I shall awake, and see thy face ; 

I shall be satisfied. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



685 




" Begone, you imp of darkness ! 
You Devil's dam! " 



Corey hides his face in his hands. 
Enter the Jailer, followed by Rich- 
ard Gardner. 

jailer. 

Here 's a seafaring man, one Richard 

Gardner, 20 

A friend of yours, who asks to speak 

with you. 

Corey rises. They embrace. 

COREY. 

I 'm glad to see you, ay, right glad to 
see you. 

GARDNER. 

And I am most sorely grieved to see 
you thus. 

COREY. 

Of all the friends I had in happier 

days, 
You are the first, ay, and the only 

one, 



JWCjfp /iqEi] . ',f£: 



That comes to seek me out in my dis- 
grace ! 

And you but come in time to say fare- 
well. 

They 've dug my grave already in the 
field. 

I thank you. There is something in 
your presence, 

I know not what it is, that gives me 
strength. 30 

Perhaps it is the bearing of a man 

Familiar with all dangers of the deep, 

Familiar with the cries of drowning 
men, 

With fire, and wreck, and foundering 
ships at sea ! 

GARDNER. 

Ah, I have never known a wreck like 
yours ! 
I Would I could save you I 



686 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



COREY. 

Do not speak of that. 
It is too late. I am resolved to 
die. 

GARDNEK. 

Why would you die who have so 

much to live for ? — 
Your daughters, and — 

COREY. 

You cannot say the word. 
My daughters have gone from me. 

They are married ; 4 o 

They have their homes, their thoughts, 

apart from me ; 
I will not say their hearts, — that 

were too cruel. 
What would you have me do ? 

GARDNER. 

Confess and live. 

COREY. 

That's what they said who came here 
yesterday 

To lay a heavy weight upon my con- 
science 

•By telling me that I was driven forth 

As an unworthy member of their 
church. 

GARDNER. 

It is an awful death. 

COREY. 

'T is but to drown, 
And have the weight of all the seas 
upon you. 

GARDNER. 

Say something ; say enough to fend 
off death 5 o 

Till this tornado of fanaticism 

Blows itself out. Let me come in be- 
tween you 

And your severer self, with my plain 
sense ; 

Do not be obstinate. 

COREY. 

I will not plead. 
If I deny, I am condemned already, 
In courts where ghosts appear as wit- 
nesses, 



And swear men's lives away. If I 

confess, 
Then I confess a lie, to buy a life 
Which is not life, but only death in 

life. 
I will not bear false witness against 

any, 60 

Not even against myself, whom I 

count least. 

Gardner {aside). 
Ah, what a noble character is this ! 

COREY. 

I pray you, do not urge me to do 

that 
You would not do yourself. I have 

already 
The bitter taste of death upon my 

lips; 
I feel the pressure of the heavy weight 
That will crush out my life within 

this hour ; 
But if a word could save me, and 

that word 
Were not the Truth ; nay, if it did 

but swerve 
A hair's-breadth from the Truth, I 

would not say it ! 70 

Gardner {aside). 
How mean I seem beside a man like 
this! 

COREY. 

As for my wife, my Martha and my 

Martyr, 
Whose virtues, like the stars, unseen 

by day, 
Though numberless, do but await the 

dark 
To manifest themselves unto all 

eyes, 
She who first won me from my evil 

ways, 
And taught me how to live by her ex- 
ample, 
By her example teaches me to die, 
And leads me onward to the better 

life ! 

SHERIFF {without). 

Giles Corey ! Come ! The hour has 
struck ! 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



687 



COREY. 

I come ! 80 
Here is my body ; ye may torture it, 
But the immortal soul ye cannot 
crush ! [Exeunt. 

Scene III. — A street in the Village. 
Enter Gloyd and others. 

GLOYD. 

Quick, or we shall be late ! 

A MAN. 

That *s not the way. 
Come here ; come up this lane. 

GLOYD. 

I wonder now 
If the old man will die, and will not 

speak ? 
He 's obstinate enough and tough 

enough 
For anything on earth. 

A bell tolls. 

Hark! What is that? 

A MAN. 

The passing bell. He 's dead ! 

GLOYD. 

We are too late. 
[Exeunt in haste. 

Scene IV. — A field near the grave- 
yard. Giles Corey lying dead, 
with a great stone on his breast. The 
Sheriff at his head, Richard Gard- 
ner at his feet. A croicd behind. 
The bell tolling. Enter Hathorne 
and Mather. 

HATHORNE. 

This is the Potter's Field. Behold the 
fate 

Of those who deal in Witchcrafts, and 
when questioned, 

Refuse to plead their guilt or. inno- 
cence, 

And stubbornly drag death upon 
themselves. 

MATHER. 

sight most horrible ! In a land like 
this, 



Spangled with Churches Evangeli- 
cal 

Inwrapped in our salvations, must we 
seek 

In mouldering statute-books of Eng- 
lish Courts 

Some old forgotten Law, to do such 
deeds ? 

Those who lie buried in the Potter's 
Field 10 

Will rise again, as surely as ourselves 

That sleep in honored graves with epi- 
taphs ; 

And this poor man, whom we have 
made a victim, 

Hereafter will be counted as a mar- 
tyr! 



FINALE 

SAINT JOHN 

Saint John wandering over the face of 
the Earth. 

SAINT JOHN. 

The Ages come and go, 

The Centuries pass as Years ; 

My hair is white as the snow, 

My feet are weary and slow, 

The earth is wet with my tears ! 

The kingdoms crumble, and fall 

Apart, like a ruined wall, 

Or a bank that is undermined 

By a river's ceaseless flow, 

And leave no trace behind! 10 

The world itself is old ; 

The portals of Time unfold 

On hinges of iron, that grate 

And groan with the rust and the 

weight, 
Like the hinges of a gate 
That hath fallen to decay ; 
But the evil doth not cease ; 
There is war instead of peace, 
Instead of Love there is hate ; 
And still I must wander and wait. 20 
Still I must watch and pray, 
Not forgetting in whose sight, 
A thousand years in their flight 
Are as a single day. 

The life of man is a gleam 
Of light, that comes and goes 



688 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Like the course of the Holy Stream, 
The cityless river, that flows 
From fountains no one knows, 
Through the Lake of Galilee, 
Througli forests and level lands, 
Over rocks, and shallows, and sands 
Of a wilderness wild and vast, 
Till it findeth its rest at last 
In the desolate Dead Sea ! 



30 




John 



But alas ! alas for me 
Not yet this rest shall be ! 

What, then 1 doth Charity fail ? 
Is Faith of no avail ? 
Is Hope blown out like a light 40 

By a gust of wind in the night ? 
The clashing of creeds, and the strife 
Of the many beliefs, that in vain 
Perplex man's heart and brain, 
Are naught but the rustle of leaves., 
When the breath of God upheaves 
The boughs of the Tree of Life, 
And they subside again I 
And I remember still 
The words, and from whom they came, 
Not he that repeateth the name, st 
But he that doeth the will ! 

And Him evermore I behold 
Walking in Galilee, 
Through the cornfield's waving gold, 
In hamlet, in wood, and in wold, 
By the shores of the Beautiful Sea. 
He toucheth the sightless eyes ; 
Before him the demons flee; 
To the dead He sayeth : Arise ! 60 

To the living: Follow me! 
And that voice still soundeth on 
From the centuries that are gone, 
To the centuries that shall be ! 

From all vain pomps and shows, 

From the pride that overflows, 

And the false conceits of men ; 

From all the narrow rules 

And subtleties of Schools, 

And the craft of tongue and pen ; 70 

Bewildered in its search, 

Bewildered with the cry: 

Lo, here ! lo, there, the Church ! 

Poor, sad Humanity 

Through all the dust and heat 

Turns back with bleeding feet, 

By the weary road it came, 

Unto the simple thought 

By the great Master taught, 

And that remaineth still : 8c 

Not he that repeateth the name. 

But he that doeth the will ! 




Jerusalem 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



ACT I 

THE CITADEL OF ANTIOCHUS AT 
JERUSALEM 

Scene I. — Antiochus ; Jason. 

antiochus. 

Antioch, my Antioch, my city ! 
Queen of the East ! my solace, my 

delight ! 
The dowry of my sister Cleopatra 
When she was wed to Ptolemy, and 

now 
Won back and made more wonderful 

by me! 

1 love thee, and I long to be once 

more 
Among the players and the dancing 
women 



Within thy gates, and bathe in the 
Orontes, 

Thy river and mine. O Jason, my 
High-Priest, 

For I have made thee so, and thou art 
mine, 10 

Hast thou seen Antioch the Beauti- 
ful? 

JASON. 

Never, my Lord. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Then hast thou never seen 

The wonder of the world. This city 
of David 

Compared with Antioch is but a vil- 
lage, 

And its inhabitants compared with 
Greeks 

Are mannerless boors. 



690 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



JASON. 

They are barbarians, 
And mannerless. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

They must be civilized. 
They must be made tohavemore gods 

than one ; 
And goddesses besides. 

JASON. 

They shall have more. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

They must have hippodromes, and 
games, and baths, 20 

Stage-plays and festivals, and most of 
all 

The Dionysia. 

JASON. 

They shall have them all. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

By Heracles ! but I should like to see 
These Hebrews crowned with ivy, 

and arrayed 
In skins of fawns, with drums and 

flutes and thyrsi, 
Revel and riot through the solemn 

streets 
Of their old town. Ha, ha ! It makes 

me merry 
Only to think of it! — Thou dost not 

laugh. 

JASON. 

Yea, I laugh inwardly. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

The new Greek leaven 
Works slowly in this Israelitish dough ! 
Have I not sacked the Temple, and on 
the altar 31 

Set up the statue of Olympian Zeus 
To Hellenize it ? 

JASON. 

Thou hast done all this. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

As thou wast Joshua once and now 
art Jason, 

And from a Hebrew hast become a 
Greek, 

So shall this Hebrew nation be trans- 
lated, 

Their very natures and their names be 
changed. 

And all be Hellenized. 



JASON. 

It shall be done. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Their manners and their laws and way 
of living 

Shall all be Greek. They shall un- 
learn their language, 40 

And learn the lovely speech of An- 
tioch. 

Where hast thou been to-day ? Thou 
comest late. 

JASON. 

Playing at discus with the other 

priests 
In the Gymnasium. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Thou hast done well. 

There's nothing better for you lazy 
priests 

Than discus-playing with the common 
people. 

Now tell me, Jason, what these He- 
brews call me 

When they converse together at their 
games. 

JASON. 

Antiochus Epiphanes, my Lord ; 49 
Antiochus the Illustrious. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Oh, not that : 
That is the public cry ; I mean the 

name 
They give me when they talk among 

themselves, 
And think that no one listens ; what 

is that ? 

JASON. 

Antiochus Epimanes, my Lord ! 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Antiochus the Mad ! Ay, that is it. 
And who hath said it ? Who hath set 

in motion 
That sorry jest? 

JASON. 

The Seven Sons insane 
Of a weird woman, like themselves 
insane. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

I like their courage, but it shall not 
save them. 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



691 



They shall be made to eat the flesh of 
swine 60 

Or they shall die. Where are they ? 



JASON. 



In the dungeons 



Beneath this tower. 



ANTIOCHUS. 

There let them stay and starve. 
Till I am ready to make Greeks of 

them, 
After my fashion. 

JASON. 

They shall stay and starve. — 
My Lord, the Ambassadors of Samaria 
Await thy pleasure. 



ANTIOCHUS. 

Why not my displeasure ? 
Ambassadors are tedious. They are 

men 
Who work for their own ends, and not 

for mine ; 
There is no furtherance in them. Let 

them go 
To Apollonius, my governor 70 

There in Samaria, and not trouble me. 
What do thev want ? 



Only the royal sanction 
To give a name unto a nameless 

temple 
Upon Mount Gerizim. 




The Citadel at Jerusalem 



6g: 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



ANTIOCHUS. 

Then bid them enter. 

This pleases me, and furthers my de- 
signs. 

The occasion is auspicious. Bid them 
enter. 

Scene II. — Antiochus ; Jason ; the 
Samaritan Ambassadors. 

antiochus. 

Approach. Come forward ; stand not 
at the door 

Wagging your long beards, but de- 
mean yourselves 

As doth become Ambassadors. What 
seek ye ? 

AN AMBASSADOR. 

An audience from the King. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Speak, and be brief. 
Waste not the time in useless rhetoric. 
Words are not things. 

ambassador {reading). 

" To King Antiochus, 
The God, Epiphanes; a Memorial 
From the Sidonians, who live at 
Sichem." 



Sidonians ? 



ANTIOCHUS. 
AMBASSADOR. 

Ay, my Lord. 



ANTIOCHUS. 

Go on, go on ! 

And do not tire thyself and me with 

bowing ! ic 



AMBASSADOR (?*< 

' ' We are a colony of Medes and Per- 
sians." 

ANTIOCHUS. 

No, ye are Jews from one of the Ten 

Tribes; 
Whether Sidonians or Samaritans 
Or Jews of Jewry, matters not to me ; 
Ye are all Israelites, ye are all Jews. 
When the Jews prosper, ye claim 

kindred with them ; 
When the Jews suffer, ye are Medes 

and Persians ; 
I know that in the days of Alexander 



Ye claimed exemption from the annual 

tribute 
In the Sabbatic Year, because, ye 

said, 20 

Your fields had not been planted in 

that year. 

ambassador {reading). 
"Our fathers, upon certain frequent 

plagues, 
And following an ancient supersti- 
tion, 
Were long accustomed to observe that 

day 
Which by the Israelites is called the 

Sabbath, 
And in a temple on Mount Gerizim 
Without a name, they offered sacrifice. 
Now we, who are Sidonians, beseech 

thee, 
Who art our benefactor and our 

savior, 
Not to confound us with these wicked 

Jew y s, 30 

But to give royal order and injunction 
To Apollonius in Samaria, 
Thy governor, and likewise to Nica- 

nor, 
Thy procurator, no more to molest us; 
And let our nameless temple now be 

named 
The Temple of Jupiter Hellenius." 

ANTIOCHUS. 

This shall be done. Full well it 

pleaseth me 
Ye are not Jews, or are no longer 

Jews, 
But Greeks; if not by birth, yet 

Greeks by custom. 
Your nameless temple shall receive 

the name 40 

Of Jupiter Hellenius. Ye may go! 

Scene III. — Antiochus; Jason. 

antiochus. 
My task is easier than I dreamed. 

These people 
Meet me half-way. Jason, didst thou 

take note 
How these Samaritans of Sichem said 
They were not Jews ? that they were 

Medes and Persians, 
They were Sidonians, anything but 

Jews? 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 693 


'T is of good augury. The rest will 

follow 
Till the whole land is Hellenized. 


Being fourscore years and ten, chose 

rather death 
By torture than to eat the flesh of 


JASON. 


swine. 


My Lord, 
These are Samaritans. The tribe of 

Judah 
Is of a different temper, and the task 
Will be more difficult. 


ANTIOCHUS. 

The life is in the blood, and the whole 

nation 
Shall bleed to death, or it shall change 

its faith ! 


ANTIOCHUS. 


JASON. 


Dost thou gainsay me? 

JASON. 

I know the stubborn nature of the 
Jew. 11 
Yesterday, Eleazer, an old man, 


Hundreds have fled already to the 

mountains 
Of Ephraim, where Judas Macca- 

baeus 
Hath raised the standard of revolt 

against thee. 




Be strong, my heart ! " 



694 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



ANTIOCHUS. 

I will burn down their city, and will 
make it 20 

Waste as a wilderness. Its thorough- 
fares 

Shall be but furrows in a field of 
ashes. 

It shall be sown with salt as Sodom 
is! 

This hundred and fifty-third Olympiad 

Shall have a broad and blood -red seal 
upon it, 

Stamped with the awful letters of my 
name, 

Antiochus the God, Epiphanes! — 

Where are those Seven Sons ? 

JASON. 

My Lord, they wait 
Thy royal pleasure. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

They shall wait no longer ! 

ACT II 

THE DUNGEONS IN THE CITADEL 

Scene I. — The Mother of the Seven 
Sons alone, listening. 

THE MOTHER. 

Be strong, my heart ! Break not till 

they are dead. 
All, all my Seven Sons ; then burst 

asunder, 
And let this tortured and tormented 

soul 
Leap and rush out like water through 

the shards 
Of earthen vessels broken at a well. 

my dear children, mine in life and 

death, 

1 know not how ye came into my 

womb ; 

I neither gave you breath, nor gave 
you life, 

And neither was it I that formed the 
members 9 

Of every one of you. But the Creator, 

Who made the world, and made the 
heavens above us, 

Who formed the generation of man- 
kind, 

And found out the beginning of all 
things, 



He gave you breath and life, and will 

again 
Of his own mercy, as ye now regard 
Not your own selves, but his eternal 

law. 
I do not murmur, nay, I thank thee 

God, 
That I and mine have not been deemed 

unworthy 
To suffer for thy sake, and for thy law, 
And for the many sins of Israel. 20 
Hark ! I can hear within the sound of 

scourges ! 
I feel them more than ye do, O my 

sons ! 
But cannot come to you. I, who was 

wont 
To wake at night at the least cry ye 

made, 
To whom ye ran at every slightest 

hurt, — 
I cannot take you now into my lap 
And soothe your pain, but God will 

take you all 
Into his pitying arms, and comfort 

you, 

And give you rest. 

a voice {within). 

What wouldst thou ask of us ? 

Ready are we to die, but we will 

never 30 

Transgress the law and customs of our 

fathers. 

THE MOTHER. 

It is the voice of my first-born! O 
brave 

And noble boy! Thou hast the privi- 
lege 

Of dying first, as thou wast born the 
first. 

THE SAME VOICE (within). 

God looketh on us, and hath comfort 

in us; 
As Moses in his song of old declared, 
He in his servants shall be comforted. 

THE MOTHER. 

I knew thou wouldst not fail ! — He 

speaks no more, 
He is beyond all pain ! 

antiochus (within). 

If thou eat not 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



695 



Thou shalt be tortured throughout all 
the members 40 

Of thy whole body. Wilt thou eat 
then ? 



second voice (within). 



No. 



THE MOTHER. 

It is Adaiah's voice. I tremble for 
him. 

I know his nature, devious as the 
wind, 

And swift to change, gentle and yield- 
ing always. 

Be steadfast, O my son! 

the same voice (within). 

Thou, like a fury, 
Takest us from this present life, but 

God, 
Who rules the world, shall raise us up 

again 
Into life everlasting. 

THE MOTHER. 

God, I thank thee 
That thou hast breathed into that 

timid heart 
Courage to die for thee. O my Ada- 

iah, 50 

Witness of God ! if thou for whom I 

feared 
Canst thus encounter death, I need not 

fear ; 
The others will not shrink. 

third voice (icithin). 

Behold these hands 
Held out to thee, O King Antiochus, 
Not to implore thy mercy, but to show 
That I despise them. He who gave 

them to me 
Will give them back again. 

THE MOTHER. 

O Avilan, 
It is thy voice. For the last time I 

hear it ; 
For the last time on earth, but not the 

last. 
To death it bids defiance, and to tor- 
ture. 60 
It sounds to me as from another world, 
And makes the petty miseries of this 
Seem unto me aj naught, and less 
than naught. 



Farewell, my Avilan; nay, I should 

say 
Welcome, my Avilan ; for I am dead 
Before thee. I am waiting for the 

others. 
Why do they linger ? 

fourth voice (within). 

It is good, O King, 
Being put to death by men, to look 

for hope 
From God, to be raised up again by 

Him. 
But thou — no resurrection shalt thou 
have 70 

To life hereafter. 

THE MOTHER. 

Four ! already four ! 
Three are still living; nay, they are 

all living, 
Half here, half there. Make haste, 

Antiochus, 
To reunite us ; for the sword that 

cleaves 
These miserable bodies makes a door 
Through which our souls, impatient 

of release, 
Rush to each other's arms. 

fifth voice (within). 

Thou hast the power ; 
Thou doest what thou wilt. Abide 

awhile, 
And thou shalt see the power of God, 

and how 
He will torment thee and thy seed. 

THE MOTHER. 

O hasten ; 
Why dost thou pause ? Thou who 

hast slain already 81 

So many Hebrew women, and hast 

hung 
Their murdered infants round their 

necks, slay me, 
For I too am a woman, and these boys 
Are mine. Make haste to slay us 

all, 
And hang my lifeless babes about my 

neck. 

sixth voice (within). 
Think not, Antiochus, that takest in 

hand 
To strive against the God of Israel, 



6 9 6 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



Thou shalt escape unpunished, for his 

wrath 
Shall overtake thee and thy bloody 

house. 9 o 

THE MOTHER. 

One more, my Sirion, and then all is 

ended. 
Having put all to bed, then in my 

turn 
I will lie down and sleep as sound as 

they. 
My Sirion, my youngest, best be- 
loved! 
And those bright golden locks, that I 

so oft 
Have curled about these fingers, even 

now 
Are foul with blood and dust, like a 

lamb's fleece, 
Slain in the shambles. — Not a sound 

I hear. 
This silence is more terrible to me 99 
Than any sound, than any cry of pain, 
That might escape the lips of one who 

dies. 
Doth his heart fail him ? Doth he fall 

away 
In the last hour from God ? O Sirion, 

Sirion, 
Art thou afraid ? I do not hear thy 

voice. 
Die as thy brothers died. Thou must 

not live ! 

Scene II. — The Mother ; Antio- 
chus; Sirion. 

the mother. 
Are they all dead ? 

ANTIOCHTJS. 

Of all thy Seven Sons 
One only lives. Behold them where 

they lie ; 
How dost thou like this picture ? 

THE MOTHER. 

God in heaven ! 
Can a man do such deeds, and yet not 

die 
By the recoil of his own wickedness? 
Ye murdered, bleeding, mutilated 

bodies 
That were my children once, and still 

are mine, 



I cannot watch o'er you as Rizpah 
watched 

In sackcloth o'er the seven sons of 
Saul, 

Till water drop upon you out of hea- 
ven 10 

And wash this blood away ! I cannot 
mourn 

As she, the daughter of Aiah, mourned 
the dead, 

From the beginning of the barley- 
harvest 

Until the autumn rains, and suffered 
not 

The birds of air to rest on them by day, 

Nor the wild beasts by night. For ye 
have died 

A better death, a death so full of life 

That I ought rather to rejoice than 
mourn. — 

Wherefore art thou not dead, O Sir- 
ion ? 

Wherefore art thou the only living 
thing 20 

Among thv brothers dead ? Art thou 
afraid ? 

ANTIOCHUS. 

O woman, I have spared him for thy 
sake, 

For he is fair to look upon and 
comely ; 

And I have sworn to him by all the 
gods 

That I would crown his life with joy 
and honor, 

Heap treasures on him, luxuries, de- 
lights, 

Make him my friend and keeper of 
my secrets, 

If he would turn from your Mosaic Law 

And be as we are ; but he will not lis- 
ten. 29 

THE MOTHER. 

My noble Sirion ! 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Therefore I beseech thee, 
Who art his mother, thou wouldst 

speak with him, 
And wouldst persuade him. I am 

sick of blood. 

THE MOTHER. 

Yea, I will speak with' him and will 
persuade him. 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



697 




..." thou, Antiochus, shalt suffer 
The punishment of pride " 



O Sirion, my son! have pity on me, 
On me that bare thee, and that gave 

thee suck, 
And fed and nourished thee, and 

brought thee up 
With the dear trouble of a mother's care 
Unto this age. Look on the heavens 

above thee, 
And on the earth and all that is therein ; 
Consider that God made them out of 

things 40 

That were not ; and that likewise in 

this manner 
Mankind was made. Then fear not 

this tormentor ; 
But, being worthy of thy brethren, take 
Thy death as they did, that I may re- 
ceive thee 
Again in mercy with them. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

I am mocked, 
Yea, I am laughed to scorn. 

SIRION. 

'Whom wait ye for ? 
Never will I obey the King's com- 
mandment, 



But the commandment of the ancient 

Law, 
That was by Moses given unto our 

fathers. 
And thou, O godless man, that of all 

others 50 

Art the most wicked, be not lifted up, 
Nor puffed up with uncertain hopes, 

uplifting 
Thy hand against the servants of the 

Lord, 
For thou hast not escaped the right- 
eous judgment 
Of the Almighty God, who seeth all 

things ! 

ANTIOCHUS. 

He is no God of mine ; I fear Him not. 

SIRION. 

My brothers, who have suffered a 

brief pain, 
Are dead ; but thou, Antiochus, shalt 

suffer 

The punishment of pride. I offer up 

My body and my life, beseeching 

God 60 



6 9 8 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



That He would speedily be merciful 

Unto our nation, and that thou by- 
plagues 

Mysterious and by torments mayest 
confess 

That He alone is God. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Ye both shall perish 
By torments worse than any that your 

God, 
Here or hereafter, hath in store for 

me. 

THE MOTHER. 

My Sirion, I am proud of thee ! 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Be silent ! 
Go to thy bed of torture in yon 

chamber, 
Where lie so many sleepers, heartless 

mother ! 
Thy footsteps will not wake them, 

nor thy voice, 70 

Nor wilt thou hear, amid thy troubled 

dreams, 
Thy children crying for thee in the 

night ! 

THE MOTHER. 

Death, that stretchest thy white 

hands to me, 

1 fear them not, but press them to my 

lips, 
That are as white as thine ; for I am 

Death, 
Nay, am the Mother of Death, seeing 

these sons 
All lying lifeless. — Kiss me, Sirion. 

ACT III 

THE BATTLE-FIELD OF BETH- 
HORON 

Scene I. — Judas Maccabeus in 
armor before his tent. 

JUDAS. 

The trumpets sound; the echoes of 
the mountains 

Answer them, as the Sabbath morn- 
ing breaks 

Over Beth-horon and its battle-field, 

Where the great captain of the hosts 
of God, 



A slave brought up in the brick-fields 
of Egypt, 

O'ercame the Amorites. There was 
no day 

Like that, before or after it, nor shall be. 

The sun stood still; the hammers of 
the hail 

Beat on their harness; and the cap- 
tains set 

Their weary feet upon the necks of 
kings, 10 

As I will upon thine, Antiochus, 

Thou man of blood ! — Behold the 
rising sun 

Strikes on the golden letters of my 
banner, 

Be Elohim Yehovah ! Who is like 

To thee, O Lord, among the gods ? — 
Alas! 

I am not Joshua, I cannot say, 

" Sun, stand thou still on Gibeon, and 
thou Moon, 

In Ajalon ! " Nor am I one who wastes 

The fateful time in useless lamenta- 
tion; 

But one who bears his life upon his 
hand 20 

To lose it or to save it, as may best 

Serve the designs of Him who giveth 
life. 

Scene II. — Judas Maccabeus ; Jew- 
ish Fugitives. 

judas. 
Who and what are ye, that with fur 

tive steps 
Steal in among our tents ? 

FUGITIVES. 

O Maccabseus, 
Outcasts are we, and fugitives as thou 

art, 
Jews of Jerusalem, that have escaped 
From the polluted city, and from 

death. 

JUDAS. 

None can escape from death. Say 

that ye come 
To die for Israel, and ye are welcome. 
What tidings bring ye ? 

FUGITIVES. 

Tidings of despair. 
The Temple is laid waste: the precious 

vessels, 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



699 



Censers of gold, vials and veils and 

crowns, 10 

And golden ornaments, and hidden 

treasures, 
Have all been taken from it, and the 

Gentiles 
With revelling and with riot fill its 

courts, 
And dally with harlots in the holy 

places. 

JUDAS. 

All this I knew before. 

FUGITIVES. 

Upon the altar 
Are things profane, things by the law 

forbidden ; 
Nor can we keep our Sabbaths or our 

Feasts, 
But on the festivals of Dionysus 
Must walk in their processions, bear- 
ing ivy 19 
To crown a drunken god. 

JUDAS. 

This too I know. 
But tell me of the Jews. How fare 
the Jews ? 

FUGITIVES. 

The coming of this mischief hath been 
sore 

And grievous to the people. All the 
land 

Is full of lamentation and of mourn- 
ing. 

The Princes and the Elders weep and 
wail ; 

The young men and the maidens are 
made feeble; 

The beauty of the women hath been 
changed. 

JUDAS. 

And are there none to die for Israel ? 

'T is not enough to mourn. Breast- 
plate and harness 

Are better things than sackcloth. Let 
the women 30 

Lament for Israel ; the men should 
die. 

FUGITIVES. 

Both men and women die ; old men 

and young : 
Old Eleazer died : and Mahala 
With all her Seven Sons. 



JUDAS. 

Antiochus, 
At every step thou takest there is left 
A bloody footprint in the street, by 

which 
The avenging wrath of God will track 

thee out! 
It is enough. Go to the sutler's tents : 
Those of you who are men, put on 

such armor 
As ye may find ; those of you who are 

women, 40 

Buckle that armor on ; and for a 

watchword 
Whisper, or crv aloud, " The Help of 

God." 

Scene III. — Judas Maccab^eus ; 
Nicanor. 

NICANOR. 

Hail, Judas Maccabaeus ! 

JUDAS. 

Hail! —Who art thou 
That comest here in this mysterious 

guise 
Into our camp unheralded ? 



NICANOR. 

Sent from Nicanor. 



A herald 



JUDAS. 

Heralds come not thus. 
Armed with thy shirt of mail from 

head to heel, 
Thou glidest like a serpent silently 
Into my presence. Wherefore dost 

thou turn 
Thy face from me ? A herald speaks 

his errand 
With forehead unabashed. Thou art 

a spy 9 

Sent by Nicanor. 

NICANOR. 

No disguise avails ! 
Behold my face ; I am Nicanor's self. 

JUDAS. 

Thou art indeed Nicanor. I salute 

thee. 
What brings thee hither to this hostile 

camp 
Thus unattended ? 



700 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



NICANOR. 

Confidence in thee. 
Thou hast the nobler virtues of thy 

race, 
Without the failings that attend those 

virtues. 
Thou canst be strong, and yet not 

tyrannous, 
Canst righteous be and not intolerant. 
Let there be peace between us. 

JUDAS. 

What is peace ? 

Is it to bow in silence to our vic- 
tors ? 20 

Is it to see our cities sacked and pil- 
laged, 

Our people slain, or sold as slaves, or 
fleeing 

At night-time by the blaze of burning 
towns; 

Jerusalem laid waste ; the Holy 
Temple 

Polluted with strange gods ? Are 
these things peace? 

NICANOR. 

These are the dire necessities that 
wait 

On war, whose loud and bloody en- 
ginery 

I seek to stay. Let there be peace be- 
tween 

Antiochus and thee. 

JUDAS. 

Antiochus? 

What is Antiochus, that he should 
prate 30 

Of peace to me, who am a fugitive ? 

To-day he shall be lifted up ; to- 
morrow 

Shall not be found, because he is re- 
turned 

Unto his dust ; his thought has come 
to nothing. 

There is no peace between us, nor can 
be, 

Until this banner floats upon the walls 

Of our Jerusalem. 

NICANOR. 

Between that city 
And thee there lies a waving wall of 

tents 
Held by a host of forty thousand 

foot. 



And horsemen seven thousand. What 
hast thou 40 

To bring against all these ? 

JUDAS. 

The power of God, 
Whose breath shall scatter your white 

tents abroad, 
As flakes of snow. 

NICANOR. 

Your Mighty One in heaven 
Will not do battle on the Seventh 

Day; 
It is his day of rest. 

JUDAS. 

Silence, blasphemer. 
Go to thy tents. 

NICANOR. 

Shall it be war or peace ? 

JUDAS. 

War, war, and only war. Go to thy 

tents 
That shall be scattered, as by you 

were scattered 
The torn and trampled pages of the 

Law, 49 

Blown through the windy streets. 

NICANOR. 

Farewell, brave foe ! 

JUDAS. 

Ho, there, my captains ! Have safe- 
conduct given 

Unto Nicanor's herald through the 
camp, 

And come yourselves to me. — Fare- 
well, Nicanor! 



Scene IV. — Judas Maccabeus; 
Captains and Soldiers. 

JUDAS. 

The hour is come. Gather the host to- 
gether 

For battle. Lo, with trumpets and 
with songs 

The army of Nicp-uor comes against 
us. 

Go forth to meet them, praying in 
your hearts, 

And fighting with your hands. 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



701 



CAPTAINS. 

Look forth and see ! 
The morning sun is shining on their 

shields 
Of gold and brass ; the mountains 

glisten with them, 
And shine like lamps. And we, who 

are so few 
And poorly armed, and ready to faint 

with fasting, 
How shall we fight against this multi- 
. tude ? 10 

JUDAS. 

The victory of a battle standeth not 
In multitudes, but in the strength that 

cometh 
From heaven above. The Lord forbid 

that I 
Should do this thing, and flee away 

from them. 
Nay, if our hour be come, then let us 

die ; 
Let us not stain our honor. 



CAPTAINS. 

'T is the Sabbath. 
Wilt thou fight on the Sabbath, Mac- 
cabasus ? 

JDDAS. 

Ay ; when I fight the battles of the 

Lord, 
I fight them on his day, as on all 

others. 
Have ye forgotten certain fugitives 20 
That fled once to these hills, and hid 

themselves 
In caves? How their pursuers camped 

against them 
Upon the Seventh Day, and challenged 

them? 
And how they answered not, nor cast 

a stone, 
Nor stopped the places where they lay 

concealed, 
But meekly perished with their wives 

and children, 




Judas before the Tents 



702 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



Even to the number of a thousand 

souls ? 
We who are fighting for our laws and 

lives 
Will not so perish. 

CAPTAINS. 

Lead us to the battle ! 

JUDAS. 

And let our watchword be, "The 

Help of God!" 3 o 

Last night I dreamed a dream ; and in 

my vision 
Beheld Onias, our High-Priest of old, 
Who holding up his hands prayed for 

the Jews. 
This done, in the like manner there 

appeared 
An old man, and exceeding glorious, 
With hoary hair, and of a wonderful 
And excellent majesty. And Onias 

said : 
"This is a lover of the Jews, who 

prayeth 
Much for the people and the Holy 

City, - 
God's prophet Jeremias." And the 

prophet 4 o 

Held forth his right hand and gave 

unto me 
A sword of gold ; and giving it he 

said : 
"Take thou this holy sword, a gift 

from God, 
And with it thou shalt wound thine 

adversaries." 

CAPTAINS. 

The Lord is with us ! 

JUDAS. 

Hark! I hear the trumpets 
Sound from Beth-horon ; from the 

battle-field 
Of Joshua, where he smote the Amor- 

ites, 
Smote the Five Kings of Eglon and 

of Jarmuth, 
Of Hebron, Lachish, and Jerusalem, 
As we to-day will smite Nicanor's 

hosts " 50 

And leave a memory of great deeds 

behind us. 

CAPTAINS AND SOLDIERS. 

The Help of God! 



JUDAS. 

Be Elohim Yehovah ! 
Lord, thou didst send thine Angel in 

the time 
Of Esekias, King of Israel, 
And in the armies of Sennacherib 
Didst slay a hundred fourscore and 

five thousand. 
Wherefore, O Lord of heaven, now 

also send 
Before us a good angel for a fear, 
And through the might of thy right 

arm let those 
Be stricken with terror that have come 

this day 60 

Against thy holy people to blaspheme. ! 



ACT IV 

THE OUTER COURTS OF THE 
TEMPLE AT JERUSALEM 



Scene I. 



Judas Maccabeus ; Cap- 
tains ; Jews. 



judas. 
Behold, our enemies are discomfited. 
Jerusalem has fallen ; and our banners 
Float from her battlements, and o'er 

her gates 
Nicanor's severed head, a sign of terror, 
Blackens in wind and sun. 

CAPTAINS. 

O Maccabaeus, 
The citadel of Antiochus, wherein 
The Mother with her Seven Sons was 

murdered, 
Is still defiant. 

JUDAS. 

Wait. 

CAPTAINS. 

Its hateful aspect 
Insults us with the bitter memories 
Of other days. 

JUDAS. 

Wait ; it shall disappear 10 
And vanish as a cloud. First let us 

cleanse 
The Sanctuary. See, it is become 
Waste like a wilderness. Its golden 

gates 
Wrenched from their hinges and con 

sumed by fire ; 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



703 



Shrubs growing in its courts as in a 

forest; 
Upon its altars hideous and strange 

idols ; 
And strewn about its pavement at my 

feet 
Its Sacred Books, half-burned and 

painted o'er 
With images of heathen gods. 

JEWS. 

Woe! woe! 
Our beauty and our glory are laid 

waste ! 20 

The Gentiles have profaned our holy 

places ! 
{Lamentation and alarm of trumpets.) 

JUDAS. 

This sound of trumpets, and this lam- 
entation, 

The heart-cry of a people toward the 
heavens, 

Stir me to wrath and vengeance. Go, 
my captains; 

I hold you back no longer. Batter 
down 

The citadel of Antiochus, while here 

We sweep away his altars and his 
gods. 

Scene II. — Judas Maccabeus ; Ja- 
son; Jews. 

jews. 

Lurking among the ruins of the Tem- 
ple, 

Deep in its inner courts, we found this 
man, 

Clad as High-Priest. 

JUDAS. 

I ask not who thou art, 
I know thy face, writ over with 

deceit 
As are these tattered volumes of the 

Law 
With heathen images. A priest of 

God 
Wast thou in other days, but thou art 

now 
A priest of Satan. Traitor, thou art 

Jason. 

JASON. 

I am thy prisoner, Judas Maccabseus, 



And it would ill become me to con- 
ceal 10 
My name or office. 

JUDAS. 

Over yonder gate 
There hangs the head of one who was 

a Greek. 
What should prevent me now, thou 

man of sin,* 
From hanging at its side the head of 

one 
Who born a Jew hath made himself a 

Greek ? 

JASON. 

Justice prevents thee. 

JUDAS. 

Justice? Thou art stained 
With every crime 'gainst which the 

Decalogue 
Thunders with all its thunder. 

JASON. 

If not Justice, 
Then Mercy, her handmaiden. 

JUDAS. 

When hast thou 
At any time, to any man or woman, 20 
Or even to any little child, shown 
mercy ? 

JASON. 

I have but done what King Antiochus 
Commanded me. 

JUDAS. 

True, thou hast been the weapon 
With which he struck ; but hast been 

such a weapon, 
So flexible, so fitted to his hand, 
It tempted him to strike. So thou 

hast urged him 
To double wickedness, thine own and 

his. 
Where is this King ? Is he in Antioch 
Among his women still, and from his 

windows 
Throwing down gold by handfuls, for 

the rabble 30 

To scramble for ? 

JASON. 

Nay, he is gone from there, 
Gone with an army into the far East. 



7°4 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



JUDAS. 

And wherefore gone ? 

JASON, 

I know not ! For the space 
Of forty days almost were horsemen 

seen 
Running in air, in cloth of gold, and 

armed 
"With lances, like a band of soldiery ; 
It was a sign of triumph ! 

JUDAS. 

Or of death ! 
Wherefore art thou not with him ? 

JASON. 

I was left 
For service in the Temple. 

JUDAS. 

To pollute it, 
And to corrupt the Jews; for there 

are men 4 o 

Whose presence is corruption; to be 

with them 
Degrades us and deforms the things 

we do. 

JASON. 

I never made a boast, as some men do, 
Of my superior virtue, nor denied 
The weakness of my nature, that hath 

made me 
Subservient to the will of other men. 

JUDAS. 

Upon this day, the five-and- twentieth 

day 
Of the month Caslan, was the Temple 

here 
Profaned by strangers, — by Antio- 

chus 
And thee, his instrument. Upon this 

day 50 



Shall it be cleansed. Thou, who didst 

lend thyself 
Unto this profanation, canst not be 
A witness of these solemn services. 
There can be nothing clean where 

thou art present. 
The people put to death Callisthenes, 
Who burned the Temple gates; and 

if they find thee 
Will surely slay thee. I will spare 

thy life 
To punish thee the longer. Thou shalt 

wander 
Among strange nations. Thou, that 

hast cast out 
So many from their native land, shalt 

perish 60 

In a strange land. Thou, that hast 

left so many 
Unburied, shalt have none to mourn 

for thee, 
Nor any solemn funerals at all, 
Nor sepulchre with thy fathers. — 

Get thee hence ! 

Music. Procession of Priests and peo- 
ple, with citherns, harps, and cym- 
bals. Judas Maccabeus puts him- 
self at their head, and they go into 
the inner courts. 



Scene III. — Jason alone. 

JASON. 

Through the Gate Beautiful I see 
them come, 

With branches and green boughs and 
leaves of palm, 

And pass into the inner courts. Alas ! 

I should be with them, should be one 
of them, 

But in an evil hour, an hour of weak- 
ness, 




Through the Gate Beautiful I see them come " 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



7°5 



That cometh unto all, I fell away 
From the old faith, and did not clutch 

the new, 
Only an outward semblance of belief ; 
For the new faith I cannot make mine 

OWD, 

Not being born to it. It hath no root 10 
Within me. I am neither Jew nor Greek, 
But stand between them both, a rene- 
gade 
To each in turn ; having no longer faith 
In gods or men. Then what mysteri- 
ous charm, • 
What fascination is it chains my feet, 
And keeps me gazing like a curious 

child 
Into the holy places, where the priests 
Have raised their altar? — Striking 

stones together, 
They take fire out of them, and light 

the lamps 
In the great candlestick. They 
spread the veils, 20 

And set the loaves of shewbread on 

the table. 
The incense burns; the well-remem- 
bered odor 
Comes wafted unto me, and takes me 

back 
To other days. Isee myself among them 
As I was then; and the old superstition 
Creeps over me again ! — A childish 

fancy ! — 
And hark ! they sing with citherns 

and with cymbals, 
And all the people fall upon their faces, 
Prayingand worshipping! — Iwillaway 
Into the East, to meet Antiochus 30 
Upon his homeward journey, crowned 

with triumph. 
Alas ! to-day I would give everything 
To see a friend's face, or to hear a voice 
That had the slightest tone of comfort 
in it! 

ACT V 
THE MOUNTAINS OF ECBATANA 

Scene I. — Antiochus ; Philip ; At- 
tendants. 

antiochus. 
Here let us rest awhile. Where are 

we, Philip ? 
What place is this ? 



PHILIP. 

Ecbatana, my Lord ; 
And yonder mountain range is the 
Orontes. 

antiochus. 
The Orontes is my river at Antioch. 
Why did I leave it? Why have I 

been tempted 
By coverings of gold and shields and 

breast-plates 
To plunder Elymais, and be driven 
From out its gates, as by a fiery blast 
Out of a furnace? 

PHILIP. 

These are fortune's changes. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

What a defeat it was! The Persian 
horsemen 10 

Came like a mighty wind, the wind 
Khamaseen, 

And melted us away, and scattered us 

As if we were dead leaves, or desert 
sand. 

PHILIP. 

Be comforted, my Lord ; for thou 

hast lost 
But what thou hadst not. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

I, who made the Jews 
Skip like the grasshoppers, am made 

myself 
To skip among these stones. 

PHILIP. 

Be not discouraged. 
Thy realm of Syria remains to thee ; 
That is not lost nor marred. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Oh, where are now 

The splendors of my court, my baths 
and banquets ? 20 

Where are my players and my dan- 
cing women ? 

Where are my sweet musicians with 
their pipes, 

That made me merry in the olden 
time? 

I am a laughing-stock to man and 
brute. 

The very camels, with their ugly 
faces, 

Mock me and laugh at me. 



706 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



PHILIP. 

Alas! my Lord, 
It is not so. If thou wouldst sleep 

awhile, 
All would be well. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Sleep from mine eyes is gone, 
And my heart faileth me for very 

care. 
Dost thou remember, Philip, the old 

fable 30 

Told us when we were boys, in which 

the bear 
Going for honey overturns the hive, 
And is stung blind by bees ? I am 

that beast, 
Stung by the Persian swarms of Ely- 

mais. 

PHILIP. 

When thou art come again to An- 
tioch, 

These thoughts will be as covered and 
forgotten 

As are the tracks of Pharaoh's chariot- 
wheels 

In the Egyptian sands. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Ah ! when I come 
Again to Antioch! When will that 

be? 
Alas ! alas ! 



Scene II. — Antiochus ; Philip ; A 

Messenger. 

messenger. 
May the King live forever ! 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Who art thou, and whence comest 
thou ? 

MESSENGER. 

My Lord, 
I am a messenger from Antioch, 
Sent here by Lysias. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

A strange foreboding 
Of something evil overshadows me. 
I am no reader of the Jewish Scrip- 
tures ; 



I know not Hebrew ; but my High- 
Priest Jason, 

As I remember, told me of a Prophet 

Who saw a little cloud rise from the 
sea 

Like a man's hand, and soon the hea- 
ven was black 10 

With clouds and rain. Here, Philip, 
read ; I cannot ; 

I see that cloud. It makes the letters 
dim 

Before mine eyes. 
« 
philip (reading) 

" To King Antiochus, 
The God, Epiphanes." 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Oh mockery ! 
Even Lysias laughs at me ! — Go on, 
go on ! 

philip (reading). 

" We pray thee hasten thy return. 
The realm 

Is falling from thee. Since thou hast 
gone from us 

The victories of Judas Maccabseus 

Form all our annals. First he over- 
threw 

Thy forces at Beth-horon, and passed 
on, 20 

And took Jerusalem, the Holy City. 

And then Emmaus fell; and then 
Bethsura, 

Ephron and all the towns of Galaad, 

And Maccabseus marched to Camion." 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Enough, enough ! Go call my chariot- 
men ; 

We will drive forward, forward, with- 
out ceasing, 

Until we come to Antioch. My cap- 
tains, 

My Lysias, Gorgias, Seron, and Nica- 
nor, 

Are babes in battle, and this dreadful 
Jew 

Will rob me of my kingdom and my 
crown. 30 

My elephants shall' trample him to 
dust; 

I will wipe out his nation, and will 
make 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



707 



Jerusalem a common burying-place, 
And every home within its walls a 

tomb ! 
Throws up his hands, and sinks into the 

arms of attendants, who lay him 

upon a bank. 

PHILIP. 

Antiochus ! Antiochus ! Alas, 
The King is ill! What is it, O my 
Lord? 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Nothing. A sudden and sharp spasm 

of pain, 
As if the lightning struck me, or the 

knife 
Of an assassin smote me to the heart. 
'T is passed, even as it came. Let us 

set forward. 40 

PHILIP. 

See that the chariots be in readiness ; 
We will depart forthwith. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

A moment more. 
I cannot stand. I am become at once 
Weak as an infant. Ye will have to 

lead me. 
Jove, or Jehovah, or whatever name 
Thou wouldst be named, — it is alike 

to me, — 
If I knew how to pray, I would en- 
treat 
To live a little longer. 

PHILIP. 

O my Lord, 
Thou shalt not. die; we will not let 
thee die ! 

ANTIOCHUS. 

How canst thou help it, Philip ? Oh 

the pain ! so 

Stab after stab. Thou hast no shield 

against 
This unseen weapon. God of Israel, 
Since all the other gods abandon me, 
Help me. I will release the Holy City, 
Garnish with goodly gifts the Holy 
Temple. 



Thy people, whom I judged to be un 

worthy 
To be so much as buried, shall be equal 
Unto the citizens of Antioch. 
I will become a Jew, and will declare 
Through all the world that is in- 
habited 60 
The power of God! 

PHILIP. 

He faints. It is like death. 
Bring here the royal litter. We will 

bear him 
Into the camp, while yet he lives. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

O Philip, 
Into what tribulation am I come ! 
Alas! I now remember all the evil 
That I have done the Jews ; and for 

this cause 
These troubles are upon me, and be- 
hold 
I perish through great grief in a 
strange land. 

PHILIP. 

Antiochus ! my King ! 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Nay, King no longer. 

Take thou my royal robes, my signet 
ring, 70 

My crown and sceptre, and deliver 
them 

Unto my son, Antiochus Eupator ; 

And unto the good Jews, my citi- 
zens, 

In all my towns, say that their dying 
monarch 

Wisheth them joy, prosperity, and 
health. 

I who, puffed up with pride and arro- 
gance, 

Thought all the kingdoms of the earth 
mine own, 

If I would but outstretch my hand 
and take them, 

Meet face to face a greater poten- 
tate, 

King Death — Epiphanes — the illus- 
trious ! 80 
{Dies. 




Michael Angelo 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



Michel piu che mortal, Angel divino. 

Aeiosto. 
Similamente operando all' artista 
Ch' a 1' abito dell' arte e man che trema. 

Dante, Par. xiii. si. 77. 



DEDICATION 

Nothing that is shall perish utterly, 
But perish only to revive again 



In other forms, as clouds restore in 

rain 
The exhalations of the land and 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



709 



Men build their houses from the ma- 
sonry 
Of ruined tombs; the passion and 

the pain 
Of hearts, that long have ceased to 

beat, remain 
To throb in hearts that are, or are to 

be. 
So from old chronicles, where sleep in 

dust 
Names that once filled the world 

with trumpet tones, 
I 'build this verse; and flowers of 

song have thrust 
Their roots among the loose disjointed 

stones, 
Which to this end I fashion as I 

must. 
Quickened are they that touch the 

Prophet's bones. 



PART FIRST 

I 

PROLOGUE AT ISCHIA 

The Castle Terrace. Vittoria Co- 
lonna and Julia Gonzaga. 

VITTORIA. 

Will you then leave me, Julia, and 

so soon, 
To pace alone this terrace like a ghost? 

JULIA. 

To-morrow, dearest. 

VITTORIA. 

Do not say to-morrow. 
A whole month of to-morrows were too 

soon. 
You must not go. You are a part of 

me. 

JULIA. 

I must return to Fondi. 

VITTORIA. 

The old castle 
Needs not your presence. No one 

waits for you. 
Stay one day longer with me. They 

who go 
Feel not the pain of parting ; it is they 
Who stay behind that suffer. I was 

thinking 10 



But yesterday how like and how un- 
like 
Have been, and are, our destinies. 

Your husband, 
The good Vespasian, an old man, who 

seemed 
A father to you rather than a husband, 
Died in your arms ; but mine, in all 

the flower 
And promise of his youth, was taken 

from me 
As by a rushing wind. The breath of 

battle 
Breathed on him, and I saw his face 

no more, 
Save as in dreams it haunts me. As 

our love 
Was for these men, so is our sorrow 

for them. 20 

Yours a child's sorrow, smiling 

through its tears ; 
But mine the grief of an impassioned 

woman, 
Who drank her life up in one draught 

of love. 

JULIA. 

Behold this locket. This is the white 
hair 

Of my Vespasian. This the flower- 
of-love, 

This amaranth, and beneath it the de- 
vice, 

Non moritura. Thus my heart re- 
mains 

True to his memory ; and the ancient 
castle, 

Where we have lived together, where 
he died, 

Is dear to me as Ischia is to you. 30 

VITTORIA. 

I did not mean to chide you. 

JULIA. 

Let your heart 
Find, if it can, some poor apology 
For one who is too young, and feels 

too keenly 
The joy of life, to give up all her 



To sorrow for the dead. While I am 

true 
To the remembrance of the man I 

loved 
And mourn for still, I do not make a 

show 



7io 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



Of all the grief I feel, nor live se- 
cluded 

And, like Veronica da Gambara, 

Drape my whole house in mourning, 
and drive forth 40 

In coach of sable drawn by sable 
horses, 

As if I were a corpse. Ah, one to- 
day 

Is worth for me a thousand yester- 
days. 

VITTORIA. 

Dear Julia ! Friendship has its j eal- 

ousies 
As well as love. Who waits for you 

at Fondi ? 

JULIA. 

A friend of mine and yours ; a friend 
and friar. 

You have at Naples your Fra Ber- 
nardino ; 

And I at Fondi have my Fra Bastiano, 

The famous artist, who has come from 
Rome 

To paint my portrait. That is not a 
sin. 50 

VITTORIA. 

Only a vanity. 

JULIA. 

He painted yours. 

VITTORIA. 

Do not call up to me those days de- 
parted, 

When I was young, and all was bright 
about me, 

And the vicissitudes of life were 
things 

But to be read of in old histories, 

Though as pertaining unto me or 
mine 

Impossible. Ah, then I dreamed your 
dreams, 

And now, grown older, I look back 
and see 

They were illusions. 

JULIA. 

Yet without illusions 
What would our lives become, what 

we ourselves ? 60 

Dreams or illusions, call them what 

you will, 



They lift us from the commonplace of 

life 
To better things. 

VITTORIA. 

Are there no brighter dreams, 
No higher aspirations, than the wish 
To please and to be pleased ? 

JULIA. 

For you there are : 
I am no saint ; I feel the world we live 

in 
Comes before that which is to be 

hereafter, 
And must be dealt with first. 

VITTORIA. 

But in what way 1 

JULIA. 

Let the soft wind that wafts to us the 

odor 
Of orange blossoms, let the laughing 

sea 70 

And the bright sunshine bathing all 

the world, 
Answer the question. 

VITTORIA. 

And for whom is meant 
This portrait that you speak of ? 



JULIA. 

The Cardinal Ippolito. 
1 

VITTORTA 



For my friend 



For him? 



JULIA. 

Yes, for Ippolito the Magnificent. 

'Tis always flattering to a woman's 
pride 

To be admired by one whom all ad- 
mire. 

VITTORIA. 

Ah, Julia, she that makes herself a 

dove 
Is eaten by the hawk. Be on your 

guard. 
He is a Cardinal ; and his adoration 80 
Should be elsewhere directed. 

JULIA. 

You forget 
The horror of that night, when Bar 
barossa, 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



711 



The Moorish corsair, landed on our 
coast 

To seize me for the Sultan Soliman ; 

How in the dead of night, when all 
were sleeping, 

He scaled the castle wall ; how I es- 
caped, 

And in my night-dress, mounting a 
swift steed, 

Fled to the mountains, and took re- 
fuge there 

Among the brigands. Then of all my 
- friends 

The Cardinal Ippolito was first 90 

To come with his retainers to my res- 
cue. 

Could I refuse the only boon he asked 

At such a time, my portrait ? 

VITTORIA. 

I have heard 
Strange stories of the splendors of his 

palace, 
And how, apparelled like a Spanish 

Prince, 
He rides through Rome with a long 

retinue 
Of Ethiopians and Numidians 
And Turks and Tartars, in fantastic 

dresses, 
Making a gallant show. Is this the 

way 99 

A Cardinal should live ? 

JULIA. 

He is so young ; 
Hardly of age, or little more than 

that; 
Beautiful, generous, fond of arts and 

letters, 
A poet, a musician, and a scholar; 
Master of many languages, and a 

player 
On many instruments. In Rome, his 

palace 
Is the asylum of all men distinguished 
In art or science, and all Florentines 
Escaping from the tyranny of his 

cousin, 
Duke Alessandro. 

VITTORIA. 

I have seen his portrait, 
Painted by Titian. You have painted 

it no 

[n brighter colors. 



JULIA. 

And my Cardinal, 
At Itri, in the courtyard of his palace, 
Keeps a tame lion ! 

VITTORIA. 

And so counterfeits 
St. Mark, the Evangelist ! 

JULIA. 

Ah, your tame lion 
Is Michael Angelo. 

VITTORIA. 

You speak a name 
That always thrills me with a noble 

sound, 
As of a trumpet ! Michael Angelo ! 
A lion all men fear and none can tame ; 
A man that all men honor, and the 

model 
That all should follow; one who 

works and prays, 120 

For work is prayer, and consecrates 

his life 
To the sublime ideal of his art, 
Till art and life are one ; a man who 

holds 
Such place in all men's thoughts, that 

when they speak 
Of great things done, or to be done, 

his name 
Is ever on their lips. 

JULIA. 

You too can paint 
The portrait of your hero, and in 

colors 
Brighter than Titian's ; I might warn 

you also 
Against the dangers that beset your 

path ; 129 

But I forbear. 

VITTORIA. 

If I were made of marble, 
Of Fior di Persico or Pavonazzo, 
He might admire me : being but flesh 

and blood, 
I am no more to him than other wo- 
men; 
That is, am nothing. 



Does he ride through Rome 
Upon his little mule, as he was wont, 



712 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



With his slouched hat, and boots of 

Cordovan, 
As when I saw him last ? 

VITTORIA. 

Pray do not jest. 

I cannot couple with his noble name 

A trivial word! Look, how the set- 
ting sun 139 

Lights up Castel-a-mare and Sorrento, 

And changes Capri to a purple cloud ! 

And there Vesuvius with its plume of 
smoke, 

And the great city stretched upon the 
shore 

As in a dream ! 

JULIA. 

Parthenope the Siren ! 

VITTORIA. 

And yon long line of lights, those sun- 
lit windows 

Blaze like the torches carried in pro- 
cession 

To do her honor ! It is beautiful ! 

JULIA. 

I have no heart to feel the beauty of it ! 
My feet are wear}', pacing up and 

down 
These level flags, and wearier still my 

thoughts 150 

Treading the broken pavement of the 

Past. 
It is too sad. I will go in and rest, 
And make me ready for to-morrow's 

journey. 

VITTORIA. 

I will go with you ; for I would not lose 
One hour of your dear presence. 'T is 

enough 
Only to be in the same room with you. 
I need not speak to you, nor hear you 

speak ; 
If I but see you, I am satisfied. 

[They go in. 

MONOLOGUE : THE LAST JUDGMENT 

Michael Angelo's Studio. He is at 
work on the cartoon of the Last Judg- 
ment. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Why did the Pope and his ten Cardi- 
nals 



Come here to lay this heavy task upon 
me? 

Were not the paintings on the Sistine 
ceiling 

Enough for them ? They saw the 
Hebrew leader 

Waiting, and clutching his tempestu- 
ous beard, 

But heeded not. The bones of Julius 

Shook in their sepulchre. I heard the 
sound ; 

They only heard the sound of their 
own voices. 

Are there no other artists here in 

Rome 
To do this work, that they must needs 

seek me ? 10 

Fra Bastian, my Fra Bastian, might 

have done it, 
But he is lost to art. The Papal Seals, 
Like leaden weights upon a dead man's 

eyes, 
Press down his lids; and so the bur- 
den falls 
On Michael Angelo, Chief Architect 
And Painter of the Apostolic Palace. 
That is the title they cajole me with, 
To make me do their work and leave 

my own ; 
But having once begun, I turn not 

back. 
Blow, ye bright angels, on your golden 

trumpets 20 

To the four corners of the earth, and 

wake 
The dead to judgment! Ye recording 

angels, 
Open your books and read ! Ye 

dead, awake ! 
Rise from 3 r our graves, drowsy and 

drugged with death, 
As men who suddenly aroused from 

sleep 
Look round amazed, and know not 

where they are ! 

In happy hours, when the imagination 
Wakes like a wind at midnight, and 

the soul 
Trembles in all its leaves, it is a joy 
To be uplifted on ' its wings, and lis- 
ten 30 
To the prophetic voices in the air 
That call us onward. Then the work 
we do 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



7i3 



Is a delight, and the obedient hand 
Never grows weary. But how differ- 
ent is it 
In the disconsolate, discouraged hours, 
When all the wisdom of the world 

appears 
As trivial as the gossip of a nurse 
In a sick-room, and all our work seems 
useless. 

What is it guides my hand, what 

thoughts possess me, 
That I have drawn her face among the 

angels, 40 

Where she will be hereafter ? O sweet 

dreams, 
That through the vacant chambers of 

my heart 
Walk in the silence, as familiar phan- 
toms 
Frequent an ancient house, what will 

ye with me ? 
'T is said that Emperors write their 

names in green 



When under age, but when of age in 
purple. 

So Love, the greatest Emperor of them 
all, 

Writes his in green at first, but after- 
wards 

In the imperial purple of our blood. 

First love or last love, — which of 
these two passions 50 

Is more omnipotent ? Which is more 
fair, 

The star of morning, or the evening 
star? 

The sunrise or the sunset of the heart ? 

The hour when we look forth to the 
unknown. 

And the advancing day consumes the 
shadows. 

Or that when all the landscape of our 
lives 

Lies stretched behind us, and familiar 
places 

Gleam in the distance, and sweet mem- 
ories 




" What is it guides my hand, what thoughts possess me ' 



7i4 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



Rise like a tender haze, and magnify 
The objects we behold, that soon must 
vanish ? 60 

What matters it to me, whose counte- 
nance 

Is like Laocoon's, full of pain ? whose 
forehead 

Is a ploughed harvest - field, where 
threescore years 

Have sown in sorrow and have reaped 
in anguish ? 

To me, the artisan, to whom all women 

Have been as if they were not, or at 
most 

A sudden rush of pigeons in the air, 

A flutter of wings, a sound, and then 
a silence? 

I am too old for love ; I am too old 

To flatter and delude myself with vis- 
ions 70 

Of never-ending friendship with fair 
women, 

Imaginations, fantasies, illusions, 

In which the things that cannot be 
take shape, 

And seem to be, and for the moment 
are. 

Convent bells ring. 

Distant and near and low and loud the 
bells, 

Dominican, Benedictine, and Francis- 
can, 

Jangle and wrangle in their airy 
towers, 

Discordant as the brotherhoods them- 
selves 

In their dim cloisters. The descend- 
ing sun 79 

Seems to caress the city that he loves, 

And crowns it with the aureole of a 
saint. 

I will go forth and breathe the air 
awhile. 

II 

SAN SILVESTRO 

A Chapel in the Church of San Silves- 
tro on Monte Cavallo. 

VlTTORIA COLONNA, Cl AUDIO To- 

lommei, and others. 

VlTTORIA. 

Here let us rest awhile, until the 
crowd 



Has left the church. I have already 

sent 
For Michael Angelo to join us here. 

MESSER CLAUDIO. 

After Fra Bernardino's wise discourse 
On the Pauline Epistles, certainly 
Some words of Michael Angelo on 

Art 
Were not amiss, to bring us back to 

earth. 

michael angelo, at the door. 

How like a Saint or Goddess she ap- 
pears ! 

Diana or Madonna, which I know 
not, 

In attitude and aspect formed to 
be 10 

At once the artist's worship and de- 
spair ! 

VlTTORIA. 

Welcome, Maestro. We were waiting 
for you. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

I met your messenger upon the way, 
And hastened hither. 

VlTTORIA. 

It is kind of you 
To come to us, who linger here like 

gossips 
Wasting the afternoon in idle talk. 
These are all friends of mine and 

friends of yours. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

If friends of yours, then are they friends 

of mine. 
Pardon me, gentlemen. But when I 

entered 19 

I saw but the Marchesa. 

VlTTORIA. 

Take this seat 
Between me and Ser Claudio Tolom- 

mei, 
Who still maintains that our Italian 

tongue 
Should be called Tuscan. But for 

that offence 
We will not quarrel with him. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Eccellenza — 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



715 




" Welcome, Maestro. We were waiting for you " 



VITTORIA. 

Ser Claudio has banished Eccellenza 
And all such titles from the Tuscan 
tongue. 

MESSER CLAUDIO. 

'T is the abuse of them, and not the 

use, 
I deprecate. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

The use or the abuse, 
It matters not. Let them all go to- 
gether, 
As empty phrases and frivolities, 30 
And common as gold -lace upon the 

collar 
Of an obsequious lackey. 

VITTORIA. 

That may be, 
But something of politeness would go 

with them ; 
We should lose something of the 

stately manners 
Of the old school. 



MESSER CLAUDIO. 

Undoubtedly 

VITTORIA. 

But that 

Is not what occupies my thoughts at 
present, 

Nor why I sent for you, Messer Mi- 
chele. 

It was to counsel me. His Holiness 

Has granted me permission, long de- 
sired, 

To build a convent in this neighbor- 
hood, 40 

Where the old tower is standing, from 
whose top 

Nero looked down upon the burning 
city. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

It is an inspiration ! 

VITTORIA. 

I am doubtful 
How I shall build ; how large to make 

the convent, 
And which way fronting. 



716 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Ah, to build, to build! 

That is the noblest art of all the arts. 

Painting and sculpture are but images, 

Are merely shadows cast by outward 
" things 

On stone or canvas, having in them- 
selves 

No separate existence. Architec- 
ture, 50 

Existing in itself, and not in seeming 

A something it is not, surpasses them 

As substance shadow. Long, long 
years ago, 

Standing one morning near the Baths 
of Titus, 

I saw the statue of Laocoon 

Rise from its grave of centuries, like a 
ghost 

Writhing in pain; and as it tore away 

The knotted serpents from its limbs, I 
heard, 

Or seemed to hear, the cry of agony 

From its white, parted lips. And still 
I marvel 60 

At the three Rhodian artists, by whose 
hands 

This miracle was wrought. Yet he 
beholds 

Far nobler works who looks upon the 
ruins 

Of temples in the Forum here in 
Rome. 

If God should give me power in my 
old age 

To build for Him a temple half as 
grand 

As those were in their glory, I should 
count 

My age more excellent than youth 
itself, 

And all that I have hitherto accom- 
plished 69 

As only vanity. 

VITTOKIA. 

I understand you. 
Art is the gift of God, and must be 

used 
Unto His glory. That in art is highest 
Which aims at this. When St. Hila- 

rion blessed 
The horses of Italicus, they won 
The race at Gaza, for his benediction 
O'erpowered all magic ; and the people 

shouted 



That Christ had conquered Marnas. 

So that art 
Which bears the consecration and the 

seal 
Of holiness upon it will prevail 
Over all others. Those few words of 

yours 80 

Inspire me with new confidence to 

build. 
What think you ? The old walls might 

serve, perhaps, 
Some purpose still. The tower can 

hold the bells. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

If strong enough. 

VITTORIA. 

If not, it can be strengthened. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

I see no bar nor drawback to this 

building, 
And on our homeward way, if it shall 

please you, 
We may together view the site. 

VITTORIA. 

I thank you. 
I did not venture to request so much. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Let us now go to the old walls you 
spake of, 89 

Vossignoria — 

VITTORIA. 

What, again, Maestro ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Pardon me, Messer Claudio, if once 

more 
I use the ancient courtesies of speech. 
I am too old to change. 

Ill 

CARDINAL IPPOLITO 

Scene I. — A richly furnished apart- 
ment in the Palace of Cardinal 
Ippolito. Night. 

Jacopo Nardi, an old man, alone. 

NARDI. 

I am bewildered. These Numidian 
slaves, 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



717 



In strange attire; these endless ante- 
chambers ; 

This lighted hall, with all its golden 
splendors, 

Pictures, and statues ! Can this be the 
dwelling 

Of a disciple of that lowly Man 

Who had not where to lay his head? 
These statues 

Are not of Saints ; nor is this a Ma- 
donna, 

This lovely face, that with such 
- tender eyes 

Looks down upon rne from the painted 
canvas. 

My heart begins to fail me. What 
can he 10 

Who lives in boundless luxury at 
Rome 

Care for the imperilled liberties of 
Florence, 

Her people, her Republic? Ah, the 
rich 

Feel not the pangs of banishment. All 
doors 

Are open to them, and all hands ex- 
tended. 

The poor alone are outcasts; they who 
risked 

All they possessed for liberty, and 
lost ; 

And wander through the world with- 
out a friend, 

Sick, comfortless, distressed, unknown, 
uncared for. 



Scene II. — Jacopo Nardi; Cardi- 
nal Ippolito, in Spanish cloak and 
slouched hat. 

IPFOLITO. 

I pray you pardon me if I have kept 

you 
Waiting so long alone. 



NARDI. 



The Cardinal. 



I wait to see 



A.nd you 



IPPOLITO. 

I am the Cardinal : 



NARDI. 

Jacopo Nardi. 



IPPOLITO. 

You are welcome. 
I was expecting you. Philippo 

Strozzi 
Had told me of your coming. 

NARDI. 

'T w T as his son 
That brought me to your door. 

IPPOLITO. 

Pray you, be seated. 
You seem astonished at the garb I 

wear, 
But at my time of life, and with my 

habits, 
The petticoats of a Cardinal would 

be — 10 

Troublesome ; I could neither ride nor 

walk, 
Nor do a thousand things, if I were 

dressed 
Like an old dowager. It were putting 

wine 
Young as the young Astyanax into 

goblets 
As old as Priam. 

NARDI. 

Oh, your Eminence 
Knows best what you should wear. 

IPPOLITO. 

Dear Messer Nardi. 

You are ho stranger to me. I have 
read 

Your excellent translation of the 
books 

Of Titus Livius, the historian 

Of Rome, and model of all historians 20 

That shall come after him. It does 
you honor; 

But greater honor still the love you 
bear 

To Florence, our dear country, and 
whose annals 

I hope your hand will write, in hap- 
pier days 

Than we now see. 

NARDI. 

Your Eminence will pardon 
The lateness of the hour. 

IPPOLITO. 

The hours I count not 
As a sun-dial; but am iike a clock, 



7 i8 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



That tells the time as well by night as 

day. 
So, no excuse. I know what brings 

you here. 29 

You come to speak of Florence. 

NARDI. 

And her woes. 
ippolito. 
The duke, my cousin, the black Ales- 

sandro, 
Whose mother was a Moorish slave, 

that fed 
The sheep upon Lorenzo's farm, still 

lives 
And reigns. 

NARDI. 

Alas, that such a scourge 
Should fall on such a city ! 

IPPOLITO. 

When he dies, 
The Wild Boar in the gardens of 

Lorenzo, 
The beast obscene, should be the 

monument 
Of this bad man. 

NAHDI. 

He walks the streets at night 

With revellers, insulting honest men. 

No house is sacred from his lusts. 

The convents 40 

Are turned by him to brothels, and 

the honor 
Of woman and all ancient pious cus- 
toms 
Are quite forgotten now. The offices 
Of the Priori and Gonfalonieri 
Have been abolished. All the magis- 
trates 
Are now his creatures. Liberty is 

dead. 
The very memory of all honest living 
Is wiped away, and even our Tuscan 

tongue 
Corrupted to a Lombard dialect. 

IPPOLITO. 

And, worst of all, his impious hand 
has broken 50 

The Martinella, — our great battle bell, 

That, sounding through three centu- 
ries, has led 

The Florentines to victory, — lest its 
voice 



Should waken in their soul some 

memory 
Of far-off times of glory. 

NARDI. 

What a change 
Ten little years have made ! We all 

remember 
Those better days, when Mccol& Cap- 

poni, 
The Gonfaloniere, from the windows 
Of the Old Palace, with the blast of 

trumpets, 
Proclaimed to the inhabitants that 

Christ 60 

Was chosen King of Florence ; and 

already 
Christ is dethroned, and slain ; and in 

his stead 
Reigns Lucifer ! Alas, alas, for 

Florence ! 

IPPOLITO. 

Lilies with lilies, said Savonarola ; 
Florence and France! But I say 

Florence only, 
Or only with the Emperor's hand to 

help us 
In sweeping out the rubbish. 

NARDI. 

Little hope 
Of help is there from him. He has 

betrothed 
His daughter Margaret to this shame- 
less Duke. 
What hope have we from such an Em- 
peror? 70 

IPPOLITO. 

Baccio Valori and Philippo Strozzi, 
Once the Duke's friends and intimates, 

are with us, 
And Cardinals Salvati and Ridolfi. 
We shall soon see, then, as Valori says, 
Whether the Duke can best spare 

honest men, 
Or honest men the Duke. 

NARDI. 

We have determined 
To send ambassadors to Spain, and 

lay 
Our griefs before the Emperor, though 

I fear 
More than I hope. 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



719 



IPPOLITO. 

The Emperor is busy 

With this new war against the Al- 

gerines, 80 

And has no time to listen to complaints 

From our ambassadors ; nor will I 

trust them, 
But go myself. All is in readiness 
For my departure, and to-morrow 

morning 
I shall go down to Itri, where I meet 
Dante da Castiglione and some others, 
Republicans and fugitives from Flor- 
ence, 
And then take ship at Gaeta, and go 
To join the Emperor in his new cru- 
sade 
Against the Turk. I shall have time 
enough 90 

And opportunity to plead our cause. 

nardi, rising. 

It is an inspiration, and I hail it 

As of good omen. May the power 
that sends it 

Bless our beloved country, and restore 

Its banished citizens. The soul of 
Florence 

Is now outside its gates. What lies 
within 

Is but a corpse, corrupted and corrupt- 
ing. 

Heaven help us all. I will not tarry 
longer, 

For you have need of rest. Good- 
night. 

IPPOLITO. 

Good-night ! 

Scene III. — Cardinal Ippolito ; 
Fra Sebastiano , Turkish attend- 
ants. 

IPPOLITO. 

Fra Bastiano, how your portly pre- 
sence 

Contrasts with that of the spare Flor- 
entine 

Who has just left me I 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

As we passed each other, 
I saw that he was weeping. 



IPPOLITO. 



Poor old man ! 



FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Who is he ? 

IPPOLITO. 

Jacopo Nardi. A brave soul ; 
One of the Fuorusciti, and the best 
And noblest of them all ; but he has 

made me 
Sad with his sadness. As I look on 

you 
My heart grows lighter. I behold a 

man 
Who lives in an ideal world, apart 10 
From all the rude collisions of our 

life, 
In a calm atmosphere. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Your Eminence 
Is surely jesting. If you knew the 

life 
Of artists as I know it, you might 

think 
Far otherwise. 

IPPOLTTO. 

But wherefore should I jest ? 
The world of art is an ideal world. — 
The world I love, and that I faiu 

would live in; 
So speak to me of artists and of art, 
Of all the painters, sculptors, and mu- 
sicians 19 
That now illustrate Rome. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Of the musicians, 
I know but Goudimel, the brave maes- 
tro 
And chapel-master of his Holiness, 
Who trains the Papal choir. 

IPPOLITO. 

In church, this morning, 
I listened to a mass of Goudimel, 
Divinely chanted. In the Incarnatus, 
In lieu of Latin words, the tenor sang 
With infinite tenderness, in plain 

Italian, 
A Neapolitan love -song. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

You amaze me. 
Was it a wanton song '? 

IPPOLITO. 

Not a divine one 



720 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



I am not over - scrupulous, as you 
know, 30 

In word or deed, yet such a song as 
that, 

Sung by the tenor of the Papal choir, 

And in a Papal mass, seemed out of 
place ; 

There 's something wrong in it. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

There 's something wrong 
In everything. We cannot make the 

world 
Go right. 'T is not my business to 

reform 
The Papal choir. 

IPPOLITO. 

Nor mine, thank Heaven ! 
Then tell me of the artists. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Naming one 
I name them all ; for there is only one : 
His name is Messer Michael Angelo. 40 
All art and artists of the present day 
Centre in him. 

IPPOLITO. 

You count yourself as nothing? 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Or less than nothing, since I am at 

best 
Only a portrait - painter ; one who 

draws 
With greater or less skill, as best he 

may, 
The features of a face. 

IPPOLITO. 

And you have had 

The honor, nay, the glory, of portray- 
ing 

Julia Gonzagal Do you count as 
nothing 

A privilege like that ? See there the 
portrait 

Rebuking you with its divine expres- 
sion. 50 

Are you not penitent ? He whose 
skilful hand 

Painted that lovely picture has not 
right 

To vilipend the art of portrait-paint- 
ing. 

But what of Michael Angelo ? 



FRA SEBASTIANO. 

But lately 
Strolling together down the crowded 

Oorso, 
We stopped, well pleased, to see your 

Eminence 
Pass on an Arab steed, a noble crea- 
ture, 
Which Michael Angelo, who is a lover 
Of all things beautiful, and especially 
When they are Arab horses, much ad- 
mired, 60 
And could not praise enough. 

ippolito, to an attendant. 

Hassan, to-morrow, 

When I am gone, but not till I am 
gone, — 

Be careful about that, — take Barba- 
rossa 

To Messer Michael Angelo the sculp- 
tor, 

Who lives there at Macello dei Corvi, 

Near to the Capitol ; and take besides 

Some ten mule-loads of provender, 
and say 

Your master sends them to him as a 
present. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

A princely gift. Though Michael 

Angelo 
Refuses presents from his Holiness, 70 
Yours he will not refuse. 

IPPOLITO. 

You think him like 
Thymcetes, who received the wooden 

horse 
Into the walls of Troy. That book of 

Virgil 
Have I translated in Italian verse, 
And shall, some day, when we have 

leisure for it, 
Be pleased to read you. When I speak 

of Troy 
I am reminded of another town 
And of a lovelier Helen, our dear 

Countess 
Julia Gonzaga. You remember, surely, 
The adventure with the corsair Barba- 

rossa, 80 

And all that followed ? 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

A most strange adventure ; 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



72 



A tale as marvellous and full of won- 
der 
As any in Boccaccio or Sacchetti; 
Almost incredible ! 

IPPOLITO. 

Were I a painter 
I should not want a better theme than 

that: 
The lovely lady fleeing through the 

night 
In. wild disorder; and the brigands' 

camp 
With the red fire-light on their swarthy 

faces. 
Could you not paint it for me ? 



FRA SEBASTIANO. 



It is not in my line. 



No, not I. 



IPPOLITO. 

Then you shall paint 
The portrait of the corsair, when we 

bring him 91 

A prisoner chained to Naples; for I 

feel 
Something like admiration for a man 
Who dared this strange adventure. 



FRA SEBASTIANO. 



I will do it. 



But catch the corsair first. 



IPPOLITO. 

You may begin 

To-morrow with the sword. Hassan, 
come hither ; 

Bring me the Turkish scimitar that 
hangs 

Beneath the picture yonder. Now un- 
sheathe it. 

'T is a Damascus blade ; you see the 
inscription 

In Arabic : La Allah ! ilia Allah ! — 100 

There is no God but God. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

How beautiful 
In fashion and in finish ! It is perfect. 
The Arsenal of Venice cannot boast 
A finer sword. 

IPPOLITO. 

You like it ? It is yours 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

You do not mean it. 




" 'T is a Damascus blade " 



722 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



IPPOLITO. 

I am not a Spaniard, 
To say that it is yours and not to 

mean it. 
I have at Itri a whole armory 
Full of such weapons. When you 

paint the portrait 
Of Barbarossa, it will be of use. 
You have not been rewarded as you 

should be no 

For painting the Gonzaga. Throw 

this bauble 
Into the scale, and make the balance 

equal. 
Till then suspend it in your studio ; 
You artists like such trifles. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

I will keep it 
In memory of the donor. Many 

thanks. 

IPPOLITO. 

Fra Bastian, I am growing tired of 

Rome, 
The old dead city, with the old dead 

people ; 
Priests everywhere, like shadows on a 

wall, 
And morning, noon, and night the 

ceaseless sound 
Of convent bells. I must be gone 

from here ; 120 

Though Ovid somewhere says that 

Rome is worthy 
To be the dwelling-place of all the 

Gods, 
I must be gone from here. To-morrow 

morning 
I start for Itri, and go thence by sea 
To join the Emperor, who is making 

war 
Upon the Algerines; perhaps to sink 
Some Turkish galleys, and bring back 

in chains 
The famous corsair. Thus would I 

avenge 
The beautiful Gonzaga. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

An achievement 
Worthy of Charlemagne, or of Or- 
lando. 130 
Berni and Ariosto both shall add 
A. canto to their poems, and describe 
you 



As Furioso and Innamorato. 
Now I must say good-night. 

IPPOLITO. 

You must not go; 
First you shall sup with me. My 

seneschal, 
Giovan Andrea dal Borgo a San Se- 

polcro, — 
I like to give the whole sonorous name, 
It sounds so like a verse of the 

iEneid, — 
Has brought me eels fresh from the 

Lake of Fondi, 
And Lucrine oysters cradled in their 

shells ; 140 

These, with red Fondi wine, the Cae- 

cuban 
That Horace speaks of, under a hun- 
dred keys 
Kept safe, until the heir of Posthu- 

mus 
Shall stain the pavement with it, 

make a feast 
Fit for Lucullus, or Fra Bastian even ; 
So we will go to supper, and be merry. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Beware! Remember that Bolsena's 

eels 
And Vernage wine once killed a Pope 

of Rome ! 

IPPOLITO. 

'T was a French Pope ; and then so 

long ago ; 
Who knows ? — perhaps the story is 

not true. 150 



IV 



BORGO DELLE VERGESTE AT NAPLES 

Boom in the Palace of Julia Gonzaga. 
Night. Julia Gonzaga, Giovanni 
Valdesso. 

JULIA. 

Do not go yet. 

valdesso. 
The night is far advanced ; 
I fear to stay too late, and weary you 
With these discussions. 



JULTA. 

I have much to say 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



723 



I speak to you, Valdesso, with that 
frankness 

Which is the greatest privilege of 
friendship, — 

Speak as I hardly would to my con- 
fessor, 

Such is my confidence in you. 

VALDESSO. 

Dear Countess, 
If loyalty to friendship be a claim 
Upon your confidence, then I may 
- claim it. 9 

JULIA. 

Then sit again, and listen unto things 
That nearer are to me than life itself. 

VALDESSO. 

In all things I am happy to obey you, 
And happiest then when you com- 
mand me most. 

JULIA. 

Laying aside all useless rhetoric, 
That is superfluous between us two, 
I come at once unto the point, and 

say 
You know my outward life, my rank 

and fortune ; 
Countess of Fondi, Duchess of Tra- 

jetto, 
A widow rich and flattered, for whose 

hand 
In marriage princes ask, and ask it 

only 20 

To be rejected. All the world can 

offer 
Lies at my feet. If I remind you of it 
It is not in the way of idle boasting, 
But only to the better understanding 
Of what comes after. 

VALDESSO. 

God hath given you also 
Beauty and intellect; and the signal 

grace 
To lead a spotless life amid tempta- 
tions 
That others yield to. 

JULIA. 

But the inward life, — 
That you know not ; 't is known but 

to myself, 
A.nd is to me a mystery and a pain : 30 



A soul disquieted and ill at ease, 

A mind perplexed with doubts and 

apprehensions, 
A heart dissatisfied with all around 

me, 
And with myself, so that sometimes I 

weep, 
Discouraged and disgusted with the 

world. 

VALDESSO. 

Whene'er we cross a river at a ford, 
If we would pass in safety, we must 

keep 
Our eyes fixed steadfast on the shore 

beyond, 
For if we cast them on the flowing 

stream, 
The head swims with it ; so if we 

would cross 4 o 

The running flood of things here in 

the world, 
Our souls must not look down, but fix 

their sight 
On the firm land beyond. 

JULIA. 

I comprehend you. 
You think I am too worldly; that my 

head 
Swims with the giddying whirl of life 

about me. 
Is that your meaning ? 

VALDESSO. 

Yes ; your meditations 
Are more of this world and its vanities 
Than of the world to come. 

JULIA. 

Between the two 
I am confused. 

VALDESSO. 

Yet have I seen you listen 
Enraptured when Fra Bernardino 
preached 50 

Of faith and hope and charity. 

JULIA. 

I listen, 
But only as to music without meaning. 
It moves me for the moment, and I 

think 
How beautiful it is to be a saint, 
As dear Vittoria is : but I am weak 



724 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



And wayward, and I soon fall back 

again 
To my old ways, so very easily. 
There are too many week-days for one 

Sunday. 

VALDESSO. 

Then take the Sunday with you 

through the week, 59 

And sweeten with it all the other days. 

JULIA. 

In part I do so ; for to put a stop 
To idle tongues, what men might say 

of me 
If 1 lived all alone here in my palace, 
And not from a vocation that I feel 
For the monastic life, I now am living 
With Sister Caterina at the convent 
Of Santa Chiara, and I come here only 
On certain days, for my affairs, or 

visits 
Of ceremony, or to be with friends. 
For I confess, to live among my 

friends 70 

Is Paradise to me ; my Purgatory 
Is living among people I dislike. 
And so I pass my life in these two 

worlds, 
This palace and the convent. 

VALDESSO. 

It was then 
The fear of man, and not the love of 

God, 
That led you to this step. "Why will 

you not 
Renounce the world, and give your 

heart to God, 1 

JULIA. 

If God so commands it, 
Wherefore hath He not made me capa- 
ble 79 
Of doing for Him what I wish to do 
As easily as I could offer Him 
This jewel from my hand, this gown 

I wear, 
Or aught else that is mine ? 

VALDESSO. 

The hindrance lies 
In that original sin, by which all fell. 

1 For some unexplained reason, the sentence 
has been left incomplete; apparently the omis- 
sion was not more than a half line. 



JULIA. 

Ah me, I cannot bring my troubled 

mind 
To wish well to that Adam, our first 

parent, 
Who by his sin lost Paradise for us, 
And brought such ills upon us. 

VALDESSO. 

We ourselves, 

When we commit a sin, lose Paradise, 

As much as he did. Let us think of 

this, 9° 

And how we may regain it. 

JULIA. 

Teach me, then, 
To harmonize the discord of my life, 
And stop the painful jangle of these 
wires. 

VALDESSO. 

That is a task impossible, until 

You tune your heart-strings to a higher 

key 
Than earthly melodies. 

JULIA. 

How shall I do it ? 

Point out to me the way of this per- 
fection, 

And I will follow you ; for you have 
made 

My soul enamored with it, and I can- 
not 

Rest satisfied until I find it out. 100 

But lead me privately, so that the 
world 

Hear not my steps ; I would not give 
occasion 

For talk among the people. 

VALDESSO. 

Now at last 
I understand you fully. Then, what 

need 
Is there for us to beat about the bush ? 
I know what you desire of me. 

JULIA. 

What rudeness ! 
If you already know it, why not tell 
me ? 

VALDESSO. 

Because I rather wait for you to ask it 
With your own lips. 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



725 



JULIA. 

Do me the kindness, then, 
To speak without reserve ; and with 

all frankness, no 

If you divine the truth, will I confess 

•it. 



I am content. 



VALDESSO. 
JULIA. 

Then speak. 



VALDESSO. 

You would be free 

From the vexatious thoughts that 
come and go 

Through your imagination, and would 
have me 

Point out some royal road and lady- 
like 

Which you may walk in, and not 
wound your feet. 

You would attain to the divine per- 
fection, 

And yet not turn your back upon the 
world ; 

You would possess humility within, 

But not reveal it in your outward ac- 
tions; 120 

You would have patience, but with- 
out the rude 

Occasions that require its exercise ; 

You would despise the world, but in 
such fashion 

The world should not despise you in 
return ; 

Would clothe the soul with all the 
Christian graces, 

Yet not despoil the body of its 
gauds ; 

Would feed the soul with spiritual 
food, 

Yet not deprive the body of its feasts ; 

Would seem angelic in the sight of 
God, 

Yet not too saint-like in the eyes of 
men ; 130 

In short, would lead a holy Christian 
life 

In such a way that even your nearest 
friend 

Would not detect therein one circum- 
stance 

To show a change from what it was 
before. 

Have I divined your secret ? 



JULIA. 

You have drawn 
The portrait of my inner self as truly 
As the most skilful painter ever 

painted 
A human face. 

VALDESSO. 

This warrants me in saying 
You think you can win heaven by 
compromise, 139 

And not by verdict. 

JULIA. 

You have often told me 
That a bad compromise was better 

even 
Than a good verdict. 

VALDESSO. 

Yes, in suits at law ; 
Not in religion. With the human soul 
There is no compromise. By faith 

alone 
Can man be justified. 

JULIA.. 

Hush, dear Valdesso ; 
That is a heresy. Do not, I pray you, 
Proclaim it from the house-top, but 

preserve it 
As something precious, hidden in 

your heart, 
As I, who half believe and tremble at 

it. 149 

VALDESSO. 

I must proclaim the truth. 

JULIA. 

Enthusiast I 
Why must you ? You imperil both 

yourself 
And friends by your imprudence. 

Pray be patient. 
You have occasion now to show that 

virtue 
Which you lay stress upon. Let us 

return 
To our lost pathway. Show me by 

what steps 
I shall walk in it. 

[Convent bells are heard. 

VALDESSO. 

Hark ! the convent bells 
Are ringing ; it is midnight ; I must 
leave you. 



726 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



And yet I linger. Pardon me, dear 

Countess, 
Since you to-night have made me your 

confessor, 
If I so far may venture, I will warn 

you 160 

Upon one point. 

JULIA. 

What is it ? Speak, I pray you, 
For I have no concealments in my 

conduct ; 
All is as open as the light of day. 
What is it you would warn me of ? 

VALDESSO. 

Your friendship 
With Cardinal Ippolito. 

JULIA. 

What is there 
To cause suspicion or alarm in that, 
More than in friendships that I enter- 
tain 
With you and others? I ne'er sat 

with him 
Alone at night, as I am sitting now 
With you, Valdesso. 

VALDESSO. 

Pardon me ; the portrait 
That Fra Bastiano painted was for him. 
Is that quite prudent ? 

JULIA. 

That is the same question 
Vittoria put to me, when I last saw 

her. 
I make you the same answer. That 

was not 
A pledge of love, but of pure grati- 
tude. 
Recall the adventure of that dreadful 

night 
When Barbarossa with two thousand 

Moors 
Landed upon the coast, and in the 

darkness 
Attacked my castle. Then, without 

delay, 
The Cardinal came hurrying down 

from Rome 180 

To rescue and protect me. Was it 

wrong 
That in an hour like that I did not 

weigh 



Too nicely this or that, but granted 

him 
A boon that pleased him, and that 

flattered me ? 

VALDESSO. 

Only beware lest, in disguise of friend- 
ship, 

Another corsair, worse than Barba- 
rossa, 

Steal in and seize the castle, not by 
storm 

But strategy. And now I take my 
leave. 

JULIA. 

Farewell ; but ere you go, look forth 

and see 
How night hath hushed the clamor 

and the stir 190 

Of the tumultuous streets. The cloud- 
less moon 
Roofs the whole city as with tiles of 

silver ; 
The dim, mysterious sea in silence 

sleeps, 
And straight into the air Vesuvius 

lifts 
His plume of smoke. How beautiful 

it is! 

[ Voices in the street. 

GIOVAN ANDREA. 

Poisoned at Itri. 

ANOTHER VOICE. 

Poisoned ? Who is poisoned ? 

GIOVAN ANDREA. 

The Cardinal Ippolito, my master. 
Call it malaria. It was very sudden. 
[Julia swoons. 



VITTORIA COLONNA 

A room in the Torre Argentina. 

Vittoria Colonna and Julia Gon- 
zaga. 

vittoria. 
Come to my arms and to my heart 

once more ; 
My soul goes out to meet you and 

embrace you, 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



727 




Vesuvius lifts 



His plume of smoke 



For we are of the sisterhood of sorrow. 
I know what you have suffered, 



JULIA. 



Name it not. 



Let me forget it. 



VITTORIA. 

I will say no more. 
Let me look at you. What a joy it is 
To see your face, to hear your voice 

again ! 
You bring with you a breath as of the 

morn, 
A memory of the far-off happy days 
When we were young. When did you 

come from Fondi ? 10 

JULIA. 

I have not been at Fondi since — 

VITTOBIA. 

Ah me! 
Jou need not speak the word ; I un- 
derstand you. 



JULIA. 

I came from Naples by the lovely 

valley, 
The Terra di Lavoro. 

VITTOMA. 

And you find me 
But just returned from a long journey 

northward. 
I have been staying with that noble 

woman, 
Renee of France, the Duchess of Fer- 

rara. 

JULIA. 

Oh, tell me of the Duchess. I have 

heard 
Flaminio speak her praises with such 

warmth 
That I am eager to hear more of her 20 
And of her brilliant court. 

VITTORIA. 

You shall hear all. 



7 2$ MICHAEL 


ANGELO 


But first sit down and listen patiently 


VITTORIA. 


While I confess myself. 


Hark 1 he is coming 


JULIA. 


JULIA. 


What deadly sin 


And shall I go or stay? 


Have you committed ? 






VITTORIA. 


VITTORIA. 


By all means, stay. 


Not a sin ; a folly. 


The drawing will be better for your 


I chid you once at Ischia, when you 


presence ; 


told me 


You will enliven me. 


That brave Fra Bastian was to paint 




your portrait. 


JULIA. 




I shall not speak ; 


JULIA. 


The presence of great men doth take 


Well I remember it. 


from me 


VITTORIA. 


All power of speech. I only gaze at 
them 


Then chide me now, 


In silent wonder, as if they were gods, 


For I confess to something still more 


Or the inhabitants of some other 


strange. 


planet. 50 


Old as I am, I have at last consented 
To the entreaties and the supplica- 


Enter ^ Michael Angelo. 


tions . 30 




Of Michael Angelo — 


VITTORIA. 

Come in. 


JULIA. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


To marry him ? 


I fear my visit is ill-timed ; 


VITTORIA. 


I interrupt you. 


I pray you,. do not jest with me ! You 
know, 


VITTORIA. 


Or you should know, that never such 


No ; this is a friend 


a thought 


Of yours as well as mine, — the Lady 


Entered my breast. I am already 
married. 


Julia, 


The Duchess of Trajetto. 


The Marquis of Pescara is my hus- 




band, 


MICHAEL ANGELO to JULIA. 


And death has not divorced us. 


I salute you. 




'T is long since I have seen your face, 


JULIA. 


my lady ; 


Pardon me. 


Pardon me if I say that having seen 


Have I offended you ? 


it, 




One never can forget it. 


VITTORIA. 




No, but have hurt me. 


JULIA. 


Unto my buried lord I give myself, 


You are kind 


Unto my friend the shadow of myself, 


To keep me in your memory. 


My portrait. It is not from vanity, 40 




But for the love I bear him. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 

It is 
The privilege of age to speak with 


JULIA. 


I rejoice 


frankness. 


To hear these words. Oh, this will be 


You will not be offended when I say 60 


a portrait 


That never was your beauty more 


Worthy of both of you 1 [A knock. 


divine. 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



729 



JULIA. 

When Michael Angelo condescends to 
flatter 

Or praise me, I am proud, and not of- 
fended. 

VITTORIA. 

Now this is gallantry enough for one; 
Show me a little. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Ah, my gracious lady, 

You- know I have not words to speak 
your praise. 

I think of you in sileuce. You con- 
ceal 

Your manifold perfections from all 
eyes, 

And make yourself more saint-like 
day by day, 

And day by day men worship you the 
more. 70 



But now your hour of martyrdom has 

come. 
You know why I am here. 

VITTORIA. 

Ah yes, I know it ; 
And meet my fate with fortitude. 

You find me 
Surrounded by the labors of your 

hands : 
The Woman of Samaria at the Well, 
The Mater Dolorosa, and the Christ 
Upon the Cross, beneath which you 

have written 
Those memorable words of Alighieri, 
" Men have forgotten how much blood 

it costs." 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

And now I come to add one labor 
more, 80 




"Just as you are. The light falls well upon you 



73° 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



If you will call that labor which is 

pleasure, 
And only pleasure. 

VITTORIA. 

How shall I be seated ? 

michael angelo, opening Ms port- 
folio. 
Just as you are. The light falls well 
upon you. 

VITTORIA. 

I am ashamed to steal the time from 

you 
That should be given to the Sistine 

Chapel. 
How does that work go on ? 

michael angelo, drawing. 

But tardily, 
Old men work slowly. Brain and 

hand alike 
Are dull and torpid. To die young is 

best, 
And not to be remembered as old 

men 
Tottering about in their decrepitude. 90 

VITTORIA. 

My dear Maestro ! have you, then, for- 
gotten 
The story of Sophocles in his old age? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

What story is it ? 

VITTORIA. 

When his sons accused him, 
Before the Areopagus, of dotage, 
For all defence, he read there to his 

Judges 
The Tragedy of (Edipus Coloneus, — 
The work of his old age. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

'T is an illusion, 
A fabulous story, that will lead old 

men 
Into a thousand follies and conceits. 

VITTORIA. 

So you may show to cavillers your 
painting 100 

Of the Last judgment in the Sistine 
Chapel. 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Now you and Lady Julia shall re- 
sume 
The conversation that I interrupted. 

VITTORIA. 

It was of no great import ; nothing 

more 
Nor less than my late visit to Ferrara. 
And what I saw there in the ducal 

palace. 
Will it not interrupt you ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Not the least. 

VITTORIA. 

Well, first, then, of Duke Ercole: a 

man 
Cold in his manners, and reserved and 

silent, 
And yet magnificent in all his ways ; no 
Not hospitable unto new ideas, 
But from state policy, and certain 

reasons 
Concerning the investiture of the 

duchy, 
A partisan of Rome, and consequently 
Intolerant of all the new opinions. 

JULIA. 

I should not like the Duke. These 

silent men, 
Who only look and listen, are like 

wells 
That have no water in them, deep and 

empty. 
How could the daughter of a king of 

France n 9 

Wed such a duke ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

The men that women marry, 
And why they marry them, will always 

be 
A marvel and a mystery to the world. 

VITTORIA. 

And then the Duchess, — how shall I 

describe her, 
Or tell the merits of that happy nature 
Which pleases most when least it 

thinks of pleasing ? 
Not beautiful, perhaps, in form and 

feature, 
Yet with an inward beauty, that 

shines through 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



73 




Vittoria Colonna 



Each look and attitude and word and 
gesture; 

A kindly grace of manner and be- 
havior, 

A something in her presence and her 
ways 130 

That makes her beautiful beyond the 
reach 

Of mere external beauty ; and in 
heart 

So noble and devoted to the truth, 

And so in sympathy with all who 
strive 

After the higher life. 



JULIA. 

She draws me to hei 
As much as her Duke Ercole repels me. 

VITTORIA. 

Then the devout and honorable women 
That grace her court, and make it 

good to be there ; 
Francesca Bucyronia, the true-hearted, 
Lavinia della Rovere and the Or- 

sini, 140 

The Magdalena and the Cherubina, 
And Anne de Parthenai, who sings so 

sweetly ; 



732 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



All lovely women, full of noble 

thoughts 
And aspirations after noble things. 

JULIA. 

Boccaccio would have envied you such 
dames. 

VITTORIA. 

No; his Fiammettas and his Philo- 
menas 

Are fitter company for Ser Giovanni ; 

I fear he hardly would have compre- 
hended 

The women that I speak of. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Yet he wrote 
The story of Griseldis. That is some- 
thing T50 
To set down in his favor. 

VITTORIA. 

With these ladies 

Was a young girl, Olympia Morata, 

Daughter of Fulvio, the learned 
scholar, 

Famous in all the universities : 

A marvellous child, who at the spin- 
ning-wheel, 

And in the daily round of household 
cares, 

Hath learned both Greek and Latin ; 
and is now 

A favorite of the Duchess and com- 
panion 

Of Princess Anne. This beautiful 
young Sappho 159 

Sometimes recited to us Grecian odes 

That she had written, with a voice 
whose sadness 

Thrilled and o'ermastered me, and 
made me look 

Into the future time, and ask myself 

What destiny will be hers. 

JULIA. 

A sad one, surely. 

Frost kills the flowers that blossom out 
of season ; 

And these precocious intellects por- 
tend 

A life of sorrow or an early death. 

VITTORIA. 

About the court were many learned 
men: 



Chilian Sinapius from beyond the 
Alps, 

And Celio Curione, and Manzolli, 170 

The Duke's physician ; and a pale 
young man, 

Charles d'Espeville of Geneva, whom 
the Duchess 

Doth much delight to talk with and to 
read. 

For he hath written a book of Insti- 
tutes 

The Duchess greatly praises, though 
some call it 

The Koran of the heretics. 

JULIA. 

And what poets 
Were there to sing you madrigals, and 

praise 
Olympia's eyes and Cherubina's tres- 



VITTORIA. 

None; for great Ariosto is no more. 
The voice that filled those halls with 
melody 180 

Has long been hushed in death. 

JULIA. 

You should have made 
A pilgrimage unto the poet's tomb, 
And laid a wreath upon it, for the 

words 
He spake of you. 

VITTORIA. 

And of yourself no less, 
And of our master, Michael Angelo. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Of me? 

VITTORIA. 

Have you forgotten that he calls you 
Michael, less man than angel, and 

divine ? 
You are ungrateful. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

A mere play on words. 

That adjective he wanted for a rhyme, 

To match with Gian Bellino and Ur- 

bino. 190 

VITTORIA. 

Bernardo Tasso is no longer there, 
Nor the gay troubadour of Gascony, 
Clement Marot, surnamed by flatterers 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



733 



The Prince of Poets and the Poet of 

Princes, 
Who, being looked upon with much 

disfavor 
By the Duke Ercole, has fled to Venice. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

There let him stay with Pietro Are- 

tino, 
The Scourge of Princes, also called 

Divine. 
The title is so common in our mouths, 
That even the Pifferari of Abruzzi, 200 
"Who play their bag-pipes in the streets 

of Rome 
At the Epiphany, will bear it soon, 
And will deserve it better than some 

poets. 

VITTORIA. 

What bee hath stung you ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO, 

One that makes no honey ; 
One that comes buzzing in through 

every window, 
And stabs men with his sting. A 

bitter thought 
Passed through my mind, but it is 

gone again ; 
I spake too hastily. 

JULIA. 

I pray you, show me 
What you have done. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Not yet ; it is not finished. 



PART SECOND 

I 
MONOLOGUE 

A room in Michael Angelo's house. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Fled to Viterbo, the old Papal city 
Where once an Emperor, humbled in 

his pride, 
Held the Pope's stirrup, as his Holi- 
ness 
Alighted from his mule ! A fugitive 
From Cardinal Caraffa's hate, who 
hurls 



His thunders at the house of the Co- 

lonna, 
With endless bitterness ! — Among the 

nuns 
In Santa Caterina's convent hidden, 
Herself in soul a nun! And now she 

chides me 
For my too frequent letters, that dis- 
turb 10 
Her meditations, and that hinder me 
And keep me from my work ; now 

graciously 
She thanks me for the crucifix I sent 

her, 
And says that she will keep it : with 

one hand 
Inflicts a wound, and with the other 

heals it. [Reading. 

"Profoundly I believed that God 

would grant you 
A supernatural faith to paint this 

Christ ; 
I wished for that which now I see 

fulfilled 
So marvellously, exceeding all my 

wishes. 
Nor more could be desired, or even so 

much. 20 

And greatly I rejoice that you have 

made 
The angel on the right so beautiful ; 
For the Archangel Michael will place 

you, 
You, Michael Angelo, on that new 

day, 
Upon the Lord's right hand! And 

waiting that, 
How can I better serve you than to 

pray 
To this sweet Christ for you, and to 

beseech you 
To hold me altogether yours in all 

things." 

Well, I will write less often, or no 
more, 

But wait her coming. No one born in 
Rome 30 

Can live elsewhere ; but he must pine 
for Rome, 

And must return to it. I, who am 
born 

And bred a Tuscan and a Floren- 
tine, 

Feel the attraction, and I linger here 



734 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



As if I were a pebble in the pavement 

Trodden by priestly feet. This I en- 
dure, 

Because I breathe in Rome an atmos- 
phere 

Heavy with odors of the laurel leaves 

•That crowned great heroes of the 
sword and pen, 

In ages past. I feel myself exalted 40 

To walk the streets in which a Virgil 
walked, 

Or Trajan rode in triumph ; but far 
more, 

And most of all, because the great Co- 
lonna 

Breathes the same air I breathe, and 
is to me 

An inspiration. Now that she is gone, 

Rome is no longer Rome till she re- 
turn. 

This feeling overmasters me. I know 
not 

If it be love, this strong desire to be 

Forever in her presence ; but I know 

That I, who was the friend of soli- 
tude, 50 

And ever was best pleased when most 
alone, 

Now weary grow of my own com- 
pany. 

For the first time old age seems lonely 
to me. 

[Opening the Divina Commedia. 

I turn for consolation to the leaves 
Of the great master of our Tuscan 

tongue, 
Whose words, like colored garnet-shirls 

in lava, 
Betray the heat in which they were 

engendered. 
A mendicant, he ate the bitter bread 
Of others, but repaid their meagre 

gifts 59 

With immortality. In courts of princes 

He was a by- word, and in streets of 
towns 

Was mocked by children, like the 
Hebrew prophet, 

Himself a prophet. I too know the cry, 

Go up, thou bald head! from a genera- 
tion 

That, wanting reverence, wanteth the 
best food 

The soul can feed on. There's not 
room enough 



For age and youth upon this little 
planet. 

Age must give way. There was not 
room enough 

Even for this great poet. In his song 

I hear reverberate the gates of Flor- 
ence, 70 

Closing upon him, never more to 
open; 

But mingled with the sound are melo- 
dies 

Celestial from the gates of paradise. 

He came and he is gone. The people 
knew not 

What manner of man was passing by 
their doors, 

Until he passed no more; but in his 
vision 

He saw the torments and beatitudes 

Of souJs condemned or pardoned, and 
hath left 

Behind him this sublime Apocalypse. 

I strive in vain to draw here on the 

margin 80 

The face of Beatrice. It is not hers, 
But the Colonna's. Each hath his 

idea], 
The image of some woman excellent, 
That is his guide. No Grecian art, 

nor Roman, 
Hath yet revealed such loveliness as 

hers. 

II 

VITERBO 

Vittokia Colonna at the convent win- 
dow 

VITTORIA. 

Parting with friends is temporary 

death, 
As all death is. We see no more their 

faces, 
Nor hear their voices, save in memory. 
But messages of love give us assurance 
That we are not forgotten. Who shall 

say 
That from the world of spirits comes 

no greeting, 
No message of remembrance? It may 

be 
The thoughts that visit us, we know 

not whence, 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



735 



Sudden as inspiration, are the whis- 
pers 
Of disembodied spirits, speaking to 

US 10 

As friends, who wait outside a prison 
wall, 

Through the barred windows speak to 
those within. [A pause. 

As quiet as the lake that lies beneath 
me, 

As quiet as the tranquil sky above 
. me, 

As quiet as a heart that beats no more, 

This convent seems. Above, below, 
all peace ! 

Silence and solitude, the soul's best 
friends, 

Are with me here, and the tumultuous 
world 

Makes no more noise than the remot- 
est planet. [A pause. 

O gentle spirit, unto the third cir- 
cle 20 

Of heaven among the blessed souls as- 
cended, 

Who, living in the faith and dying for 
it, 

Have gone to their reward, I do not 
sigh 

For thee as being dead, but for my- 
self 

That I am still alive. Turn those 
dear eyes, 

Once so benignant to me, upon mine, 

That open to their tears such uncon- 
trolled 

And such continual issue. Still awhile 

Have patience ; I will come to thee at 
last. 

A few more goings in and out these 
doors, 30 

A few more chimings of these convent 
bells, 

A few more prayers, a few more sighs 
and tears, 

And the long agony of this life will 
end. 

And I shall be with thee. If I am 
wanting 

To thy well-being, as thou art to 
mine, 

Have patience ; I will come to thee at 
last. 

Ye winds that loiter in these cloister 
gardens, 

Or wander far above the city walls, 



Bear unto him this message, that I 

ever 
Or speak or think of him, or weep for 

him. 40 

By unseen hands uplifted in the light 

Of sunset, yonder solitary cloud 

Floats, with its white apparel blown 
abroad, 

And wafted up to heaven. It fades 
away, 

And melts into the air. Ah, would 
that I 

Could thus be wafted unto thee, Fran- 
cesco, 

A cloud of white, an incorporeal 
spirit ! 



Ill 



MICHAEL ANGELO AND BENVENUTO 
CELLINI 

Scene I. — Michael Angelo ; Ben- 
venuto Cellini in gay attire. 

BENVENUTO. 

A good day and good year to the 

divine 
Maestro Michael Angelo, the sculptor ! 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Welcome, my Benvenuto. 

BENVENUTO. 

That is what 
My father said, the first time he be- 
held 
This handsome face. But say fare- 
well, not welcome. 
I come to take my leave. I start for 

Florence 
As fast as horse can carry me. I long 
To set once more upon its level flags 
These feet, made sore by your vile 

Roman pavements. 
Come with me ; you are wanted there 
in Florence. 10 

The Sacristy is not finished. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Speak not of it ! 
How damp and cold it was! How my 

bones ached 
And my head reeled, when I was 

working there ! 
I am too old. I will stay here in Rome, 



736 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



Where all is old and crumbling, like 

myself. 
To hopeless ruin. All roads lead to 

Rome. 

BENVENUTO. 

And all lead out of it. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

There is a charm, 
A certain something in the atmos- 
phere, 
That all men feel, and no man can de- 
scribe. 10 



BENVENUTO. 



Malaria ? 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Yes, malaria of the mind, 
Out of this tomb of the majestic 

Past; 
The fever to accomplish some great 

work 
That will not let us sleep. I must go 

on 
Until I die. 



BENVENUTO. 

Do you ne'er think of Florence ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Yes ; whenever 

I think of anything beside my work, 

I think of Florence. I remember, too, 

The bitter days I passed among the 
quarries 

Of Seravezza and Pietrasanta ; 

Road-building in the marshes ; stupid 
people, 30 

And cold and rain incessant, and mad 
gusts 

Of mountain wind, like howling Der- 
vishes, 

That spun and whirled the eddying 
snow about them 

As if it were a garment ; aye, vexa- 
tions 

And troubles of all kinds, that ended 
only 

In loss of time and money. 

BENVENUTO. 

True, Maestro ; 




Come with me; you are wanted there in Florence " 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



737 



But that was not in Florence. You 
should leave 

Such work to others. Sweeter memo- 
ries 38 

Cluster about you, in the pleasant city 

Upon the Arno. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

In my waking dreams 

I see the marvellous dome of Brunei - 
leschi, 

Ghiberti's gates of bronze, and Giot- 
- to's tower ; 

And Ghirlandajo's lovely Benci glides 

With folded hands amid my troubled 
thoughts, 

A splendid vision! Time rides with 
the old 

At a great pace. As travellers on 
swift steeds 

See the near landscape fly and flow 
behind them, 

While the remoter fields and dim hori- 
zons 

Go with them, and seem wheeling 
round to meet them, 49 

So in old age things near us slip away, 

And distant things go with us. Plea- 
santly 

Come back to me the days when, as a 
youth, 

I walked with Ghirlandajo in the gar- 
dens 

Of Medici, and saw the antique statues, 

The forms august of gods and godlike 
men, 

And the great world of art revealed 
itself 

To my young eyes. Then all that 
man hath done 

Seemed possible to me. Alas! how 
little 

Of all I dreamed of has my hand 
achieved ! 



BENVENUTO. 



let 



Nay, let the Night and Morning 

Lorenzo 60 

And Julian in the Sacristy at Florence, 

Prophets and Sibyls in the Sistine 
Chapel, 

And the Last Judgment answer. Is 
it finished ? 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

The work is nearly done. 
Last Judgment 



But this 



Has been the cause of more vexation 

to me 
Than it will be of honor. Ser Biagio, 
Master of ceremonies at the Papal 

court, 
A man punctilious and over nice, 
Calls it improper; says that those 

nude forms, 
Showing their nakedness in such 

shameless fashion, 70 

Are better suited to a common bagnio. 
Or wayside wine-shop, than a Papal 

Chapel. 
To punish him I painted him as Minos 
And leave him there as master of cere- 
monies 
In the Infernal Regions. What would 

you 
Have done to such a man ? 

BENVENUTO. 

I would have killed him. 
When any one insults me, if I can 
I kill him, kill him. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Oh, you gentlemen, 
Who dress in silks and velvets, and 

wear swords, 
Are ready with your weapons, and 

have all 80 

A taste for homicide. 

BENVENUTO. 

I learned that lesson 
Under Pope Clement at the siege of 

Rome, 
Some twenty years ago. As I was 

standing 
Upon the ramparts of the Campo Santo 
With Alessandro Bene, I beheld 
A sea of fog, that covered all the plain, 
And hid from us the foe ; when sud- 
denly, 
A misty figure, like an apparition, 
Rose up above the fog, as if on horse- 
back. 
At this I aimed my arquebus, and 
fired. 90 

The figure vanished ; and there rose a 

cry 
Out of the darkness, long and fierce 

and loud. 
With imprecations in all languages. 
It was the Constable of France, the 

Bourbon, 
That I had slain. 



73» 



MICHAEL ANGELO 




. firing at him with due aim and range ' 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Rome should be grateful to you. 

BENVENUTO. 

But has not been ; you shall hear pre- 
sently. 

During the siege I served as bom- 
bardier, 

There in St. Angelo. His Holiness 

One day was walking with his Cardi- 
nals 

On the round bastion, while I stood 
above ioo 

Among my falconets. All thought 
and feeling, 

All skill in art and all desire of fame, 

Were swallowed up in the delightful 
music 

Of that artillery. I saw far off, 

Within the enemy's trenches on the 
Prati, 

A Spanish cavalier in scarlet cloak ; 

And firing at him with due aim and 
range, 

I cut the gay Hidalgo in two pieces. 

The eyes are dry that wept for him in 
Spain. 

His Holiness, delighted beyond mea- 
sure no 

With such display of gunnery, and 
amazed 



To see the man in scarlet cut in two, 

Gave me his benediction, and ab- 
solved me 

From all the homicides I had com- 
mitted 

In service of the Apostolic Church, 

Or should commit thereafter. From 
that day 

I have not held in very high esteem 

The life of man. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

And who absolved Pope Clement ? 
Now let us speak of Art. 

BENVENUTO. 

Of what you will. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Say, have you seen our friend Fra 
Bastian lately, 120 

Since by a turn of fortune he became 
Friar of the Signet ? 

BENVENUTO. 

Faith, a pretty artist 
To pass his days in stamping leaden 



On Papal bulls! 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

He has grown fat and lazy, 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



739 



As if the lead clung to him like a 

sinker. 
He paints no more since he was sent 

to Fondi 
By Cardinal Ippolito to paint 
The fair Gonzaga. Ah, you should 

have seen him 
As I did, ridiug through the city gate, 
In his brown hood, attended by four 

horsemen, 130 

Completely armed, to frighten the ban- 
ditti. 
I think he would have frightened them 

alone, 
For he was rounder than the O of 

Giotto. 

BENVENUTO. 

He must have looked more like a sack 

of meal 
Than a great painter. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Well, he is not great, 
But still I like him greatly. Benve- 

nuto, 
Have faith in nothing but in industry. 
Be at it late and early ; persevere, 
And work right on through censure 

and applause, 139 

Or else abandon Art. 

BENVENUTO. 

No man works harder 
Than I do. I am not a moment idle. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

And what have you to show me ? 

BENVENUTO. 

This gold ring, 
Made for his Holiness, — my latest 

work, 
And I am proud of it. A single dia- 
mond, 
Presented by the Emperor to the Pope. 
Targhetta of Venice set and tinted it ; 
I have reset it, and retinted it 
Divinely, as you see. The jewellers 
Say I 've surpassed Targhetta. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Let me see it. 
A pretty jewel. 

BENVENUTO. 

That is not the expression. 



Pretty is not a very pretty word 151 
To be applied to such a precious stone, 
Given by an Emperor to a Pope, and 

set 
By Benvenuto ! 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Messer Benvenuto, 
I lose all patience with you ; for the 

gifts 
That God hath given you are of such 

a kind, 
They should be put to far more noble 

. uses 
Than setting diamonds for the Pope 

of Rome. 
You can do greater things 

BENVENUTO. 

The God who made me 
Knows why he made me what I am, 
— a goldsmith, 160 

A mere artificer. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Oh no ; an artist, 
Richly endowed by nature, but who 

wraps 
His talent in a napkin, and consumes 
His life in vanities. 

BENVENUTO. 

Michael Angelo 

May say what Benvenuto would not 
bear 

From any other man. He speaks the 
truth. 

I know my life is wasted and con- 
sumed 

In vanities ; but I have better hours 

And higher aspirations than you think. 

Once, when a prisoner at St. An- 
gelo, 170 

Fasting and praying in the midnight 
darkess, 

In a celestial vision I beheld 

A crucifix in the sun, of the same sub- 
stance 

As is the sun itself. And since that 
hour 

There is a splendor round about my 
head, 

That may be seen at sunrise and at 
sunset 

Above my shadow on the grass. And 
now 



740 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



I know that I am in the grace of God, 
And none henceforth can harm me. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

None but one, — 
None but yourself, who are your 

greatest foe. 180 

He that respects himself is safe from 

others ; 
He wears a coat of mail that none can 

pierce. 

BENVENUTO. 

I always wear one. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

O incorrigible ! 
At least, forget not the celestial vision. 
Man must have something higher 

than himself 
To think of. 

BENVENUTO. 

That I know full well. Now listen. 

I have been sent for into France, 
where grow 

The Lilies that illumine heaven and 
earth, 

And carry in mine equipage the model 

Of a most marvellous golden salt- 
cellar 190 

For the king's table ; and here in my 
brain 

A statue of Mars Armipotent for the 
fountain 

Of Fontainebleau, colossal, wonder- 
ful. 

I go a goldsmith, to return a sculptor. 

And so farewell, great Master. Think 
of me 

As one who, in the midst of all his 
follies, 

Had also his ambition, and aspired 

To better things. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Do not forget the vision, 

Scene II. — Michael Angelo sitting 
down again to the Ditina Gommedia. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Now in what circle of his poem sacred 
Would the great Florentine have 

placed this man ? 
Whether in Phlegethon, the river of 

blood, 



Or in the fiery belt of Purgatory, 

I know not, but most surely not with 
those 

Who walk in leaden cloaks. Though 
he is one 

Whose passions, like a potent alka- 
hest, 

Dissolve his better nature, he is not 

That despicable thing, a hypocrite ; 

He doth not cloak his vices, nor deny 
them. 10 

Come back, my thoughts, from him 
to Paradise. 



IV 

FRA SEBASTIANO DEL PIOMBO 

Scene I. — Michael Angelo ; Frj 
Sebastiano del Piombo. 

michael angelo, not turning round. 
Who is it? 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Wait, for I am out of breath 
In climbing your steep stairs. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Ah, my Bastiano, 
If you went up and down as many 

stairs 
As I do still, and climbed as many 

ladders, 
It would be better for you. Pray sit 

down. 
Your idle and luxurious way of living 
Will one day take your breath away 

entirely, 
And you will never find it. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Well, what then? 
That would be better, in my appre- 
hension, 9 
Than falling from a scaffold. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

That was nothing. 
It did not kill me; only lamed me 

slightly; 
I am quite well again. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

But why, dear Master, 
Why do you live so high up in your 
house, 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



741 



When you could live below and have 

a garden, 
As I do? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

From this window I can look 
On many gardens ; o'er the city roofs 
See the Campagna and the Alban hills : 
And all are mine. 



I have not time. Did you meet Ben- 
venuto 

As you came up the stair ? 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

He ran against me 
On the first landing, going at full 
speed ; 




Sebastiano del Piombo. 



FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Can you sit down in them, 
On summer afternoons, and play the 
lute, 19 

Or sing, or sleep the time away ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

I never 
Sleep in the day-time ; scarcely sleep 
at night ; 



Dressed like the Spanish captain in a 

play, 
With his long rapier and his short red 

cloak. 
Why hurry through the world at such 

a pace ? 
Life will not be too long. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

It is his nature, — 



742 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



A restless spirit, that consumes itself 
With useless agitations. He o'er- 

leaps 30 

The goal he aims at. Patience is a 

plant 
That grows not in all gardens. You 

are made 
Of quite another clay. 

PRA SEBASTIANO. 

And thank God for it. 
And now, being somewhat rested, I 

will tell you 
Why I have climbecf these formidable 

stairs. 
I have a friend, Francesco Berni, here, 
A very charming poet and companion, 
Who greatly honors you and all your 

doings, 
And you must sup with us. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Not I, indeed. 
I know too well what artists' suppers 
are. 40 

You must excuse me. 

PRA SEBASTIAN O. 

I will not excuse you. 
You need repose from your incessant 

work; 
Some recreation, some bright hours of 

pleasure. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

To me, what you and other men call 
pleasure, 

Is only pain. Work is my recreation, 

The play of faculty; a delight like 
that 

Which a bird feels in flying, or a fish 

In darting through the water, — no- 
thing more. 

I cannot go. The Sibylline leaves of 
life 

Grow precious now, when only few 
remain. 50 

I cannot go. 

PRA SEBASTIANO. 

Berni, perhaps, will read 
A canto of the Orlando Innamorato. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

That is another reason for not going. 
If aught is tedious and intolerable, 
It is a poet reading his own verses. 



FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Berni thinks somewhat better of your 

verses 
Than you of his. He says that you 

speak things, 
And other poets words. So, pray you, 

come. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

If it were now the Improvisatore, 
Luigi Pulci, whom I used to hear 60 
With Benvenuto, in the streets of 

Florence, 
I might be tempted. I was younger 

then, 
And singing in the open air was plea- 
sant. 

PRA SEBASTIANO. 

There is a Frenchman here, named 
Eabelais, 

Once a Franciscan friar, and now a 
doctor, 

And secretary to the embassy : 

A learned man, who speaks all lan- 
guages, 

And wittiest of men; who wrote a 
book 

Of the Adventures of Gargantua, 

So full of strange conceits one roars 
with laughter 70 

At every page; a jovial boon-compan- 
ion 

And lover of much wine. He too is 
coming. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Then you will not want me, who am 

not witty, 
And have no sense of mirth, and love 

not wine. 
I should be like a dead man at your 

banquet. 
Why should I seek this Frenchman, 

Rabelais ? 
And wherefore go to hear Francesco 

Berni, 
When I have Dante Alighieri here, 
The greatest of all poets ? 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

And the dullest; 
And only to be read in episodes.' 80 
His day is past. Petrarca is our poet. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Petrarca is for women and for lovers, 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



743 



And for those soft Abati, who delight 
To wander down long garden walks 

in summer, 
Tinkling their little sonnets all day 

long, 
As lap-dogs do their bells. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

I love Petrarca. 

How sweetly of his absent love he 
sings, 

When journeying in the forest of Ar- 
dennes! 

"I seem to hear her, hearing the 
boughs and breezes 

And leaves and birds lamenting, and 
the waters 9 o 

Murmuring flee along the verdant 
herbage." 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Enough. It is all seeming, and no 
being. 

If you would know how a man speaks 
in earnest, 

Read here this passage, where St. 
Peter thunders 

In Paradise against degenerate Popes 

And the corruptions of the church, 
till all 

The heaven about him blushes like a 
sunset, 

I beg you to take note of what he says 

About the Papal seals, for that con- 
cerns 99 

Your office and yourself. 

fra sebasttano, reading. 

Is this the passage ? 
"Nor I be made the figure of a seal 
To privileges venal and mendacious ; 
AV T hereat I often redden and flash with 

fire ! " — 
That is not poetry. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. . 

What is it, then ? 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Vituperation; gall that might have 

spirted 
From Aretino's pen. 

MICHAHL ANGELO. 

Name not that man! 
A. profligate, whom your Francesco 
Berni 



Describes as having one foot in the 
brothel 

And the other in the hospital; who 
lives 

By flattering or maligning, as best 
serves no 

His purpose at the time. He writes 
to me 

With easy arrogance of my Last Judg- 
ment, 

In such familiar tone that one would 
say 

The great event ^already had trans- 
pired, 

And he was present, and from obser- 
vation 

Informed me how the picture should 
be painted. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

What unassuming, unobtrusive men 
These critics are! Now, to have Are- 

tino 
Aiming his shafts at you brings back 

to mind 
The Gascon archers in the square of 

Milan, 120 

Shooting their arrows at Duke Sforza's 

statue, 
By Leonardo, and the foolish rabble 
Of envious Florentines, that at your 

David 
Threw stones at night. But Aretino 

praised you. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

His praises were ironical. He knows 
How to use words as weapons, and to 

wound 
While seeming to defend. But look, 

Bastiano, 
See how the setting sim lights up that 

picture ! 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

My portrait of Vittoria Coldnna. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

It makes her look as she will look 
hereafter, 130 

When she becomes a saint ! 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

A noble woman 1 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Ah, these old hands can fashion fairei 



744 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



In marble, and can paint diviner pic- 
tures, 
Since I have known her. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

And you like this picture ; 
And yet it is in oils, which you de- 
test. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

When that barbarian Jan Van Eyck 

discovered 
The use of oil in painting, he de- 
graded 
His art into a handicraft, and made it 
Sign-painting, merely, for a country 

inn 
Or wayside wine-shop. 'T is an art 

for women, 140 

Or for such leisurely and idle people 
As you are, Fra Bastiano. Nature 

paints not 
In oils, but frescoes the great dome of 

heaven 
With sunsets, and the lovely forms of 

clouds 
And flying vapors. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

And how soon they fade ! 

Behold yon line of roofs and belfries 
painted 

Upon the golden background of the 
sky, 

Like a Byzantine picture, or a portrait 

Of Cimabue. See how hard the out- 
line, 

Sharp-cut and clear, not rounded into 
shadow. 150 

Yet that is nature. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

She is always right. 
The picture that approaches sculpture 

nearest 
Is the best -picture. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Leonardo thinks 
The open air too bright. We ought 

to paint 
As if the sun were shining through a 

mist. 
'T is easier done in oil than in dis- 
temper. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Do not revive again the old dispute ; 



I have an excellent memory for forget 

tmg, 
But I still feel the hurt. Wounds are 

not healed 
By the unbending of the bow that 

made them. 160 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

So say Petrarca and the ancient pro- 
verb. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

But that is past. Now I am angry 

with you, 
Not that you paint in oils, but that, 

grown fat 
And indolent, you do not paint at all. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Why should I paint ? Why should I 

toil and sweat, 
Who now am rich enough to live at 

ease, 
And take my pleasure ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

When Pope Leo died, 

He who had been so lavish of the 
wealth 

His predecessors left him, who re- 
ceived 

A basket of gold-pieces every morn- 
ing, r 7 o 

Which every night was empty, left 
behind 

Hardly enough to pay his funeral. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

I care for banquets, not for funerals, 
As did his Holiness. I have forbidden 
All tapers at my burial, and proces- 
sion 
Of priests and friars and monks ; and 

have provided 
The cost thereof be given to the poor ! 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

You have done wisely, but of that I 

speak not. 
Ghiberti left behind him wealth and 

children ; 
But who to-day would know that he 

had lived, 180 

If he had never made those gates of 

bronze 
In the old Baptistery, — those gates 

of bronze, 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



745 



Worthy to be the gates of Paradise. 

His wealth is scattered to the winds ; 
his children 

Are long since dead ; but those celes- 
tial gates 

Survive, and keep his name and mem- 
ory green. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

But why should I fatigue myself ? 
I think 

That all things it is possible to paint 

Have been already painted ; and if not, 

Why, there are painters in the world 
at present 190 

Who can accomplish more in two 
short months 

Than I could in two years ; so it is 
well 

That some one is contented to do no- 
thing, 

And leave the field to others. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

O blasphemer ! 
Not without reason do the people call 
you 



Sebastian del Piombo, for the lead 
Of all the Papal bulls is heavy upon 

you, 
And wraps you like a shroud. 

ERA SEBASTIANO. 

Misericordia ! 
Sharp is the vinegar of sweet wine, 

and sharp 
The words you speak, because the 

heart within you 200 

Is sweet unto the core. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

How changed you are 
From the Sebastiano I once knew, 
When poor, laborious, emulous to 

excel, 
You strove in rivalry with Baldassare 
And Raphael Sanzio. 

ERA SEBASTIANO. 

Raphael is dead ; 
He is but dust and ashes in his grave, 
While I am living and enjoying life, 
And so am victor. One live Pope is 

worth 
A dozen dead ones. 




Sharp-cut and clear, not rounded into shadow ' 



746 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Raphael is not dead ; 

He doth but sleep ; for how can he be 
dead 210 

Who lives immortal in the hearts of 
men? 

He only drank the precious wine of 
youth, 

The outbreak of the grapes, before the 
vintage 

Was trodden to bitterness by the feet 
of men. 

The gods have given him sleep. We 
never were 

Nor could be foes, although our fol- 
lowers, 

Who are distorted shadows of our- 
selves, 

Have striven to make us so ; but each 
one worked 

Unconsciously upon the other's 
thought, 

Both giving and receiving. He per- 
chance 220 

Caught strength from me, and I some 
greater sweetness 

And tenderness from his more gentle 
nature. 

I have but words of praise and admi- 
ration 

For his great genius ; and the world is 
fairer 

That he lived in it. 

FRA SEBASTIAN O. 

We at least are friends ; 
So come with me. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

No, no ; I am best pleased 
When I 'm not asked to banquets. I 

have reached 
A time of life when daily walks are 

shortened, 
And even the houses of our dearest 

friends, 
That used to be so near, seem far 

away. 230 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Then we must sup without you. We 

shall laugh 
At those who toil for fame, and make 

their lives 
A tedious martyrdom, that they may 

live 



A little longer in the mouths of men 1 
And so, good -night. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Good -night, my Fra Bastiano. 

Scene II. — Michael Angelo, re- 
turning to his work. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

How will men speak of me when I am 
gone, 

When all this colorless, sad life is 
ended. 

And I am dust ? They will remember 
only 

The wrinkled forehead, the marred 
countenance, 

The rudeness of my speech, and my 
rough manners, 240 

And never dream that underneath 
them all 

There was a woman's heart of tender- 
ness ; 

They will not know the secret of my 
life, 

Locked up in silence, or but vaguely 
hinted 

In uncouth rhymes, that may per- 
chance survive 

Some little space in memories of men I 

Each one performs his life-work, and 
then leaves it ; 

Those that come after him will esti- 
mate 

His influence on the age in which he 
lived. 



PALAZZO BELVEDERE 

Titian's studio. A painting of Da- 
na'e with a curtain before it. Titian, 
Michael Angelo, and Giorgio 
Yasari. 

michael angelo. 
So you have left at last your still 

lagoons, 
Your City of Silence floating in the sea, 
And come to us in Rome. 

TITIAN. 

I come to learn, 
But I have come too late. I should 
have seen 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



747 




Michael Angelo's visit to Titian's Studio 



Rome in my youth, when all my mind 

was open 
To new impressions. Our Vasari here 
Leads me about, a blind man, groping 

darkly 
Among the marvels of the past. I 

touch them, 
But do not see them. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

There are things in Rome 



That one might walk barefooted here 
from Venice 10 

But to see once, and then to die con- 
tent. 

TITIAN. 

I must confess that these maj estic ruins 
Oppress me with their gloom. I feel 

as one 
Who in the twilight stumbles among 

tombs, 



74 8 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



And cannot read the inscriptions carved 
upon them. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

I felt so once \ but I have grown fa- 
miliar 
With desolation, and it has become 
No more a pain to me, but a delight. 

TITIAN. 

I could not live here. I must have the 
sea, 

And the sea-mist, with sunshine inter- 
woven 20 

Like cloth of gold ; must have beneath 
my windows 

The laughter of the waves, and at my 
door 

Their pattering footsteps, or I am not 
happy. 

. MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Then tell me of your city in the sea, 
Paved with red basalt of the Paduan 

hills. 
Tell me of art in Venice. Three great 

names, 
Griorgione, Titian, and the Tintoretto, 
Illustrate your Venetian school, and 

send 
A challenge to the world. The first 

is dead, 29 

But Tintoretto lives. 

TITIAN. 

And paints with fire, 
Sudden and splendid, as the lightning 

paints 
The cloudy vault of heaven. 

GIORGIO. 

Does he still keep 
Above his door the arrogant inscrip- 
tion 
That once was painted there, — " The 

color of Titian, 
With the design of Michael Angelo " ? 

TITIAN. 

Indeed, I know not. 'T was a foolish 

boast, 
And does no harm to any but himself. 
Perhaps he has grown wiser. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

When you two 
Are gone, who is there that remains 
behind 



To seize the pencil falling from your 
fingers ? 40 

GIORGIO. 

Oh, there are many hands upraised al- 
ready 

To clutch at such a prize, and hardly 
wait 

For death to loose your grasp, — a 
hundred of them : 

Schiavone, Bonifazio, Campagnola, 

Moretto, and Moroni; who can count 
them, 

Or measure their ambition ? 

TITIAN. 

When we are gone, 
The generation that comes after us 
Will have far other thoughts than 

ours. Our ruins 
Will serve to build their palaces or 

tombs. 
They will possess the world that we 

think ours, 50 

And fashion it far otherwise. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

I hear 
Your son Orazio and your nephew 

Marco 
Mentioned with honor. 

TITIAN. 

Ay, brave lads, brave lads. 

But time will show. There is a youth 
in Venice, 

One Paul Cagliari, called the Veron- 
ese, 

Still a mere stripling, but of such rare 
promise 

That we must guard our laurels, or 
may lose them. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

These are good tidings; for I some- 
times fear 
That, when we die, with us all art will 

die. 
'T is but a fancy. Nature will provide 
Others to take our places. I rejoice 
To see the young spring forward in 
the race, 62 

Eager as we were, and as full of hope 
And the sublime audacity of youth. 

TITIAN. 

Men die and are forgotten. The great 
world 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



749 



Goes on the same. Among the myri- 
ads 

Of men that live, or have lived, or 
shall live, 

What is a single life, or thine or mine, 

That we should think all nature 
would stand still 

If we were gone? We must make 
room for others. 70 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

And now, Maestro, pray unveil your 

picture 
Of Danafi, of which I hear such praise, 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

And more, that you were present, 
And saw the showery Jove from high 

Olympus 
Descend in all his splendor. 

TITIAN. 

From your lips 
Such words are full of sweetness. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

You have caught 
These golden hues from your Vene- 
tian sunsets. 80 




Titian 



titian, drawing back the curtain. 
What think you ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

That Acrisius did well 
To lock such beauty in a brazen 

tower, 
And hide it from all eyes. 



TITIAN. 



Was beautiful. 



The model truly 



'Possibly. 



TITIAN. 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Or from sunshine through a shower 
On the lagoons, or the broad Adriatic. 
Nature reveals herself in all our arts. 
The pavements and the palaces of 

cities 
Hint at the nature of the neighboring 

hills. 
Red lavas from the Euganean quarries 



75o 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



Of Padua pave your streets; your 

palaces 
Are the white stones of Istria, and 

gleam 
Reflected in your waters and your 

pictures. 
And thus the works of every artist 

show 9 o 

Something of his surroundings and his 

habits. 
The uttermost that can be reached by 

color 
Is here accomplished. Warmth and 

light and softness 
Mingle together. Never yet was flesh 
Painted by hand of artist, dead or liv- 
ing, 
With such divine perfection. 

TITIAN. 

I am grateful 
For so much praise from you, who are 

a master ; 
While mostly those who praise and 

those who blame 
Know nothing of the matter, so that 

mainly 
Their censure sounds like praise, their 

praise like censure. 100 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Wonderful! wonderful! The charm 

of color 
Fascinates me the more that in myself 
The gift is wanting. I am not a 

painter. 

GIORGIO. 

Messer Michele, all the arts are yours, 
Not one alone; and therefore I may 

venture 
To put a question to you. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Well, speak on. 

GIORGIO. 

Two nephews of the Cardinal Farnese 
Have made me umpire in dispute be- 
tween them 
Which is the greater of the sister.arts, 
Painting or sculpture. Solve for me 
the doubt. no 

MICHAEL ANGELO 

Sculpture and painting have a common 

goal, 
And whosoever would attain to it, 



Whichever path he take, will find that 

goal 
Equally hard to reach. 

GIORGIO. 

No doubt, no doubt ; 
But you evade the question. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

When I stand 
In presence of this picture, I concede 
That painting has attained its utter- 
most; 
But in the presence of my sculptured 

figures 
I feel that my conception soars beyond 
All limit I have reached. 

GIORGIO. 

You still evade me. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Giorgio Yasari, I have often said 121 
That I account that painting as the 

best 
Which most resembles sculpture. 

Here before us 
We have the proof. Behold these 

rounded limbs! 
How from the canvas they detach 

themselves, 
Till they deceive the eye, and one 

would say, 
It is a statue with a screen behind it ! 

TITIAN. 

Signori, pardon me ; but all such ques- 
tions 
Seem to me idle. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Idle as the wind. 
And now, Maestro, I will say once 
more 130 

How admirable I esteem your work, 
And leave you, without further inter- 
ruption. 

TITIAN. 

Your friendly visit hath much honored 
me. 

GIORGIO. 

Farewell. 

MICHAEL ANGELO to GIORGIO, going 

out. 
If the Venetian painters knew 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



75i 



But half as much of drawing as of 

color, 
They would indeed work miracles in 

art, 
And the world see what it hath never 

seen. 



VI 



PALAZZO CESARINI 

Scene I. — Vittoria Colonna, seated 
in an arm-chair ; Julia Gonzaga, 
standing near Iter. 

JULIA. 

It grieves me that I find you still so 

weak 
And suffering. 

VITTORIA. 

No, not suffering; onlj T dying. 
Death is the chillness that precedes 

the dawn ; 
We shudder for a moment, then awake 
In the broad sunshine of the other life. 
I am a shadow, merely, and these 

hands, 
These cheeks, these eyes, these tresses 

that my husband 
Once thought so beautiful, and I was 

proud of 
Because he thought them so, are faded 

quite, — 9 

All beauty gone from them. 

JULIA. 

Ah, no, not that. 
Paler you are, but not less beautiful. 

vittorta, folding her hands. 
O gentle spirit, unto the third circle 
Of heaven among the blessed souls 

ascended, 
Who living for the faith and dying for 

it, 
Have gone to their reward, I do not 

mourn 
For thee as being dead, but for my- 
self 
That I am still alive. A little longer 
Have patience with me, and if I am 

wanting 
To thy well-being as thou art to mine, 
Have patience; I will come to thee 
ere long. 20 



JULIA. 

Do not give way to these foreboding 
thoughts. 

VITTORIA. 

Hand me the mirror. I would fain 

behold 
What change comes o'er our features 

when we die. 
Thank you. And now sit down beside 

me here. 
How glad I am that you have come 

to-day, 
Above all other days, and at the hour 
When most I need you. 

JULIA. 

Do you ever need me ? 

VITTORIA. 

Always, and most of all to-day and 
now. 

Do you remember, Julia, when we 
walked, 

One afternoon, upon the castle ter- 
race 30 

At Ischia. on the day before you left 
me? 

JULIA. 

Well I remember ; but it seems to me 
Something unreal that has never been, 
Something that I have read of in a 

book, 
Or heard of some one else. 

VITTORIA. 

Ten years and more 
Have passed since then; and many 

things have happened 
In those ten years, and many friends 

have died : 
Marco Flaminio, whom we all admired 
And loved as our Catullus ; dear Val- 

desso, 
The noble champion of free thought 

and speech ; 40 

And Cardinal Ippolito, your friend. 

JULIA. 

Oh, do not speak of him ! His sudden 

death 
O'ercomes me now, as it o'ercame me 

then. 
Let me forget it ; for my memory 
Serves me too often as an unkind 

friend, 



7S 2 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



And I remember things I would for- 
get, 

While I forget the things I would re- 
member. 

VITTORIA. 

Forgive me ; I will speak of him no 

more. 
The good Fra Bernardino has de- 
parted, 
Has fled from Italy, and crossed the 

Alps, 50 

Fearing Caraffa's wrath, because he 

taught 
That He who made us all without our 

help 
Could also save us without aid of ours. 
Renee of France, the Duchess of Fer- 

rara, 
That Lily of the Loire, is bowed by 

winds 
That blow from Rome ; Olympia Mo- 

rata 
Banished from court because of this 

new doctrine. 
Therefore be cautious. Keep your 

secret thought 
Locked in your breast. 

JULIA. 

I will be very prudent. 

But speak no more, I pray ; it wearies 

you. 60 

VITTORIA. 

Yes, I am very weary. Read to me. 

JULIA. 

Most willingly. What shall I read ? 

VITTORIA. 

Petrarca's 
Triumph of Death. The book lies on 

the table, 
Beside the casket there. Read where 

you find 
The leaf turned down. 'T was there 

I left off reading. 

julia reads. 
"Not as a flame that by some force is 
spent, 
But one that of itself consumeth 

quite, 
Departed hence in peace the soul 
content, 
In fashion of a soft and lucent light 



Whose nutriment by slow gradation 
goes, 70 

Keeping until the end its lustre 
bright. 
Not pale, but whiter than the sheet of 
snows 

That without wind on some fair hill- 
top lies, 

Her weary body seemed to find re- 
pose. 
Like a sweet slumber in her lovely 
eyes, 

When now the spirit was no longer 
there, 

Was what is dying called by the un- 
wise. 
E'en Death itself in her fair face 
seemed fair." 

Is it of Laura that he here is speak- 
ing? — 

She doth not answer, yet is not asleep ; 

Her eyes are full of light and fixed on 
something 81 

Above her in the air. I can see naught 

Except the painted angels on the 
ceiling. 

Vittoria! speak! What is it? An- 
swer me ! — 

She only smiles, and stretches out her 
hands. 

[ The mirror falls and breaks. 

VITTORIA. 

Call my confessor ! — 
Not disobedient to the heavenly vi- 
sion! 
Pescara ! my Pescara ! [Dies. 

JULIA. 

Holy Virgin ! 
Her body sinks together, — she is 

dead! 
[Kneehy and hides her face in Vittoria s 
lap. 

Scene II. — Julia Gonzaga, Mi- 
chael Angelo. 

JULIA. 

Hush ! make no noise. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

How is she? 



JULIA. 



Never better. 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



753 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Then she is dead ! 

JULIA. 

Alas! yes, she is dead ! 
Even death itself in her fair face 

seems fair. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

How wonderful! The light upon her 

face 
Shines from the windows of another 

world. 
Saints only have such faces. Holy 

Angels! 
Bear her like sainted Catherine to her 

rest! 

[Kisses Tutorials hand. 



PART THIRD 

I 

MONOLOGUE 

Macello de' Corri. A room in Michael 
Angelo's house. 

Michael Angelo, standing before 
a model of St. Peter's. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Better than thou I cannot, Brunelles- 
chi. 

And less than thou I will not! If the 
thought 

Could, like a windlass, lift the pon- 
derous stones 

And swing them to their places ; if a 
breath 

Could blow this rounded dome into 
the air 

As if it were a bubble, and these 
statues 

Spring at a signal to their sacred sta- 
tions, 

As sentinels mount guard upon a wall, 

Then were my task completed. Now, 
alas! 

Naught am I but a Saint Sebaldus, 
holding 10 

Upon his hand the model of a church. 

As German artists paint him ; and 
what years. 

What weary years, must drag them- 
selves along, 



Ere this be turned to stone! What 
hindrances 

Must block the way ; what idle inter- 
ferences 

Of Cardinals and Canons of St. Peter's, 

AVho nothing know of art beyond the 
color 

Of cloaks and stockings, nor of any 
building 

Save that of their own fortunes! And 
what then ? 

I must then the short-coming of my 
means 20 

Piece out by stepping forward, as the 
Spartan 

Was told to add a step to his short 
sword. 

[A pause. 

And is Fra Bastian dead ? Is all that 
light 

Gone out ? that sunshine darkened ? 
all that music 

And merriment, that used to make our 
lives 

Less melancholy, swallowed up in si- 
lence 

Like madrigals sung in the street at 
night 

By passing revellers? It is strange 
indeed 

That he should die before me. 'T is 
against 

The laws of nature that the young 
should die, 30 

And the old live ; unless it be that 
some 

Have long been dead who think them- 
selves alive, 

Because not buried. Well, what mat- 
ters it, 

Since now that greater light, that was 
my sun, 

Is set, and all is darkness, all is dark- 
ness! 

Death's lightnings strike to right and 
left of me. 

And, like a ruined wall, the world 
around me 

Crumbles away, and I am left alone. 

I have no friends, and want none. 
My own thoughts 

Are now my sole companions, — 
thoughts of her, 40 

That like a benediction from the skies 

Come to me in my solitude and soothe 
me. 



754 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



When men are old, the incessant 

thought of Death 
Follows them like their shadow ; sits 

with them 
At every meal ; sleeps with them when 

they sleep ; 
And when they wake already is awake, 
And standing by their bedside. Then, 

what folly 
It is in us to make an enemy 
Of this importunate follower, not a 

friend ! 
To me a friend, and not an enemy, 50 
Has he become since all my friends 

are dead. 



II 

VIGNA DI PAPA GIULIO 

Scene I. — Pope Julius III. seated 
by the Fountain of Acqua Vergine, 
surrounded by Cardinals. 

JULIUS. 

Tell me, why is it ye are discontent, 
You, Cardinals Salviati and Marcello, 
With Michael Angelo ? What has he 

done, 
Or left undone, that ye are set against 

him? 
When one Pope dies, another is soon 

made ; 
And I can make a dozen Cardinals, 
But cannot make one Michael Angelo. 

CARDINAL SALVIATI. 

Your Holiness, we are not set against 

him ; 
We but deplore his incapacity. 9 

He is too old. 

JULIUS. 

You, Cardinal Salviati, 
Are an old man. Are you incapa- 
ble ? 
'T is the old ox that draws the straight- 
est furrow. 

CARDINAL MARCELLO. 

Your Holiness remembers he was 

charged 
With the repairs upon St. Mary's 

bridge ; 



Made cofferdams, and heaped up load 

on load 
Of timber and travertine ; and yet for 

years 
The bridge remained unfinished, till 

we gave it 
To Baccio Bigio. 

JULIUS. 

Always Baccio Bigio ! 
Is there no other architect on earth ? 
Was it not he that sometime had in 
charge 20 

The harbor of Ancona ? 

CARDINAL MARCELLO. 



Ay, the same. 



JULIUS. 



Then let me tell you that your Baccio 
Bigio 

Did greater damage in a single day 

To that fair harbor than the sea had 
done 

Or would do in ten years. And him 
you think 

To put in place of Michael Angelo, 

In building the Basilica of St. Peter! 

The ass that thinks himself a stag dis- 
covers 

His error when he comes to leap the 
ditch. 29 

CARDINAL MARCELLO. 

He does not build ; he but demol- 
ishes 
The labors of Bramante and San Gallo. 

JULIUS. 

Only to build more grandly. 

CARDINAL MARCELLO. 

But time passes ; 
Year after year goes by, and yet the 

work 
Is not completed. Michael Angelo 
Is a great sculptor, but no architect. 
His plans are faulty. 

JULIUS. 

I have seen his model, 
And have approved it. But here 

comes the artist. 
Beware of him. He may make Per- 
sians of you, 
To carry burdens on your backs for- 
ever. 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



755 



Scene II. 



The same : Michael An- 

GELO. 



JULIUS. 

Come forward, dear Maestro. In 
these gardens 

All ceremonies of our court are ban- 
ished. 

Sit down beside me here. 

MICHAEL ANGELO, Sitting dOWTl. 

How graciously 
Your Holiness commiserates old age 
And its infirmities ! 

JULIUS. 

Say its privileges. 

Art I respect. The building of this 
palace 

And laying out of these pleasant gar- 
den walks 

Are my delight, and if I have not 
asked 

Your aid in this, it is that I forbear 

To lay new burdens on you at an age 10 

"When you need rest. Here I escape 
from Rome 

To be at peace. The tumult of the 
city 

Scarce reaches here. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

How beautiful it is, 
And quiet almost as a hermitage 1 

JULIUS. 

We live as hermits here ; and from 

these heights 
O'erlook all Rome and see the yellow 

Tiber 
Cleaving in twain the city, like a 

sword, 
As far below there as St. Mary's 

bridge. 
What think you of that bridge ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

I would advise 
Your Holiness not to cross it, or not 
often ; 20 

It is not safe. 

JULIUS. 

It was repaired of late. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Some morning you will look for it in 
vain : 



It will be gone. The current of the 

river 
Is undermining it. 

JULIUS. 

But you repaired it. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

I strengthened all its piers, and paved 

its road 
With travertine. He who came after 

me 
Removed the stone and sold it, and 

filled in 
The space with gravel. 

JULIUS. 

Cardinal Salviati 

And Cardinal Marcello, do you listen ? 

This is your famous Nanni Baccio 

Bigio. 30 

MICHAEL ANGELO, aside. 

There is some mystery here. These 

Cardinals 
Stand lowering at me with unfriendly 

eyes. 

JULIUS. 

Now let us come to what concerns us 
more 

Than bridge or gardens. Some com- 
plaints are made 

Concerning the Three Chapels in St. 
Peter's ; 

Certain supposed defects or imperfec- 
tions, 

You doubtless can explain. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

This is no longer 
The golden age of art. Men have be- 
come 
Iconoclasts and critics. They delight 

not 
In what an artist does, but set them- 
selves 40 
To censure what they do not com- 
prehend. 
You will not see them bearing a Ma- 

doana 
Of Cimabue to the church in triumph, 
But tearing down the statue of a 

Pope 
To cast it into cannon. Who are they 
That bring complaints against me ? 



756 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



JULIUS. 

Deputies 
Of the Commissioners ; and they com- 
plain 
Of insufficient light in the Three 
Chapels. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Your Holiness, the insufficient light 
Is somewhere else, and not in the 
Three Chapels. 50 

Who are the deputies that make com- 
plaint ? 

JULIUS. 

The Cardinals Salviati and Marcello, 
Here present. 

michael ANGELO, rising. 
With permission, Monsignori, 
What is it ye complain of ? 

CARDINAL MARCELLO. 

We regret 
You have departed from Bramante's 

plan, 
And from San Gallo's. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Since the ancient time 
No greater architect has lived on earth 
Than Lazzari Bramante. His design, 
Without confusion, simple, clear, well- 
lighted, 
Merits all praise, and to depart from 

it 60 

Would be departing from the truth. 

San Gallo, 
Building about with columns, took all 

light 
Out of this plan ; left in the choir 

dark corners 
For infinite ribaldries, and lurking 

places 
For rogues and robbers ; so that when 

the church 
Was shut at night, not five and twenty 

men 
Could find them out. It was San 

Gallo, then, 
That left the church in darkness, and 

not I. 

CARDINAL MARCELLO. 

Excuse me ; but in each of the Three 
Chapels 69 

Is but a single window. 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Monsignore, 
Perhaps you do not know that in the 

vaulting 
Above there are to go three other win 

dows. 

CARDINAL SALVIATI. 

How should we s know? You never 
told us of it. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

I neither am obliged, nor will I be, 
To tell your Eminence or any other 
What I intend or ought to do. Your 

office 
Is to provide the means, and see that 

thieves 
Do not lay hands upon them. The 

designs 
Must all be left to me. 

CARDINAL MARCELLO. 

Sir architect, 
You do forget yourself, to speak thus 
rudely * 80 

In presence 'of his Holiness, and to us 
Who are his Cardinals. 

michael angelo, putting on his hat. 

I do not forget 

I am descended from the Counts Ca- 

nossa, 
Linked with the Imperial line, and 

with Matilda, 
Who gave the Church Saint Peter's 

Patrimony. 
I, too, am proud to give unto the 

Church 
The labor of these hands, and what of 

life 
Remains to me. My father Buonarotti 
Was Podesta of Chiusi and Caprese. 
I am not used to have men speak to 

me 90 

As if I were a mason, hired to build 
A garden wall, and paid on Saturdays 
So much an hour. 

CARDINAL SALVIATI, aside. 

No wonder that Pope Clement 
Never sat down in presence of this 

man, 
Lest he should do the same ; and al- 
ways bade him 
Put on his hat, lest he unasked should 
do it! 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



757 




What is it ye complain of ? ; 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

If any one could die of grief and 
shame, 

I should. This labor was imposed 
upon me ; 

I did not seek it ; and if I assumed it. 

'T was not for love of fame or love of 
gain, ioo 

But for the love of God. Perhaps old 
age 

Deceived me, or self-interest, or ambi- 
tion ; 

I may be doing harm instead of good. 

Therefore, I pray your Holiness, re- 
lease me ; 

Take off from me the burden of this 
work ; 

Let me go back to Florence. 



JULIUS. 



While I am living. 



Never, never, 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Doth your Holiness 
Remember what the Holy Scriptures 
say 



Of the inevitable time, when those 
Who look out of the windows shall be 
darkened, no 

And the almond-tree shall flourish ? 



JULIUS. 



That is in 



Ecclesiastes. 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

And the grasshopper 
Shall be a burden, and desire shall 

fail, 
Because man goeth unto his long 

home. 
Vanity of Vanities, saith the Preacher ; 

all 
Is vanity. 

JULIUS. 

Ah, were to do a thing 
As easy as to dream of doing it, 
We should not want for artists. But 

the men 
Who carry out in act their great de- 
signs 
Are few in number ; aye, they may be 
counted 120 



758 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



Upon the fingers of this hand. Your 

place 
Is at St. Peter's. 

MICHAEL ANGELO: 

I have had my dream, 
And cannot carry out my great con- 
ception, 
And put it into act. 

JULIUS. 

Then who can do it ? 
You would but leave it to some Baccio 

Bigio 
To mangle and deface. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Kather than that, 
I will still bear the burden on my 

shoulders 
A little longer. If your Holiness 
Will keep the world in order, and will 

leave 
The building of the church to me, the 

work 130 

Will go on better for it. Holy Father, 
If all the labor that I have endured, 
And shall endure, advantage not my 

soul, 
I am but losing time. 

julius, laying his hands on michael 
angelo's shoulders. 

You will be gainer 
Both for your soul and body. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Not events 
Exasperate me, but the funest conclu- 
sions 
I draw from these events; the sure 

decline 
Of art, and all the meaning of that 

word ; 
All that embellishes and sweetens life, 
And lifts it from the level of low 

cares 140 

Into the purer atmosphere of beauty ; 
The faith in the Ideal ; the inspiration 
That made the canons of the church 

of Seville 
Say, "Let us build, so that all men 

hereafter 
Will say that we were madmen." Holy 

Father, 
I beg permission to retire from here. 



JULIUS. 

Go ; and my benediction be upon you. 

Scene III. — Pope Julius and the 
Cardinals. 

JULIUS. 

My Cardinals, this Michael Angelo 

Must not be dealt with as a common 
mason. 

He comes of noble blood, and for his 
crest 

Bears two bull's horns ; and he has 
given us proof 

That he can toss with them. From 
this day forth 

Unto the end of time, let no man utter 

The name of Baccio Bigio in my pres- 
ence. 

All great achievements are the natural 
fruits 

Of a great character. As trees bear 
not 

Their fruits of the same size and qual- 
ity, 10 

But each one in its kind with equal 
ease, 

So are great deeds as natural to great 
men 

As mean things are to small ones. By 
his work 

We know the master. Let us not per- 
plex him. 

Ill 

BINDO ALTOVITI 

A street in Borne. Bindo Altoviti, 
standing at the door of his house. 
Michael Angelo, passing. 

BINDO. 

Good-morning, Messer Michael An- 
gelo! 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Good-morning, Messer Bindo Altoviti ! 

BINDO. 

What brings you forth so early ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

The same reason 
That keeps you standing sentinel at 
your door, — 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



759 



The air of this delicious summer morn- 
ing. 
What news have you from Florence ? 

binbo. 

Nothing new ; 

The same old tale of violence and 
wrong. 

Since the disastrous day at Monte 
Murlo, 

When in procession, through San 
Gallo's gate, 

Bareheaded, clothed in rags, on sorry 
steeds, 10 

Philippo Strozzi and the good Valori 

Amid the shouts of an ungrateful peo- 
ple 

Were led as prisoners down the streets 
of Florence, 

Hope is no more, and liberty no more. 

Duke Cosimo, the tyrant, reigns su- 
preme. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Florence is dead : her houses are but 

tombs ; 
Silence and solitude are in her streets. 

BINDO. 

Ah yes ; and often I repeat the words 



You wrote upon your statue of the 
Night, 

There in the Sacristy of San Lo- 
renzo : 20 

"Grateful to me is sleep; to be of 
stone 

More grateful, while the wrong and 
shame endure ; 

To see not, feel not, is a benediction ; 

Therefore awake me not ; oh, speak 
in whispers." 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Ah, Messer Bindo, the calamities, 
The fallen fortunes, and the desolation 
Of Florence are to me a tragedy 
Deeper than words, and darker than 

despair. 
I, who have worshipped Freedom from 

my cradle, 
Have loved her with the passion of a 
lover, 30 

And clothed her with all lovely attri- 
butes 
That the imagination can conceive, 
Or the heart conjure up, now see her 

dead, 
And trodden in the dust beneath the 
feet 




" What brings you forth so early? 



760 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



Of an adventurer! It is a grief 
Too great for me to bear in my old 
age. 

BINDO. 

I say no news from Florence : I am 
wrong, 

For Benvenuto writes that he is com- 
ing 

To be my guest in Home. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Those are good tidings. 
He hath been many years away from 

US. 40 

BINDO. 

Pray you, come in. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

I have not time to stay, 
And yet I will. I see from here your 

house 
Is filled with works of art. That bust 

in bronze 
Is of yourself. Tell me, who 'is the 

master 
That works in such an admirable way, 
And with such power and feeling ? 



BINDO. 



Benvenuto. 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Ah ? Bevenuto ? T is a masterpiece ! 
It pleases me as much, and even more, 
Than the antiques about it ; and yet 

they 
Are of the best one sees. But you 

have placed it 50 

By far too high. The light comes 

from below, 
And injures the expression. Were 

these windows 
Above and not beneath it, then indeed 
It would maintain its own among these 

works 
Of the old masters, noble as they are. 
I will go in and study it more closely. 
I always prophesied that Benvenuto, 
With all his follies and fantastic ways, 
Would show his genius in some work 

of art 
That would amaze the world, and be 

a challenge 60 

Unto all other artists of his time. 

[They go in. 



IV 

IN THE COLISEUM 

Michael Angelo and Tomaso de 
Cavalieri. 

CAVALIEItl. 

What do you here alone, Messer 

Michele ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

I come to learn. 

CAVALIERI. 

You are already master, 
And teach all other men. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Nay, I know nothing ; 
Not even my own ignorance, as some 
Philosopher hath said. I am a school- 
boy 
Who hath not learned his lesson, and 

who stands 
Ashamed and silent in the awful pres- 
ence 
Of the great master of antiquity 
Who built these walls cyclopean. 

CAVALIERI. 

Gaudentius 
His name was, I remember. His re- 
ward 10 
Was to be thrown alive to the wild 

beasts 
Here where we now T are standing. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Idle tales. 

CAVALIERI. 

But you are greater than Gaudentius 

was, 
And your work nobler. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Silence, I beseech you. 

CAVALIERI. 

Tradition says that fifteen thousand 

men 
Were toiling for ten years incessantly 
Upon this amphitheatre. 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 



Behold 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



761 




; Look at these walls about us and above us ! 



How wonderful it is ! The queen of 

flowers, 
The marble rose of Rome ! Its petals 

torn 
By wind and rain of thrice five hun- 
dred years ; 20 
Its mossy sheath half rent away, and 

sold 
To ornament our palaces and churches, 
Or to be trodden under feet of man 
Upon the Tiber's bank ; yet what re- 
mains 
Still opening its fair bosom to the sun, 
And to the constellations that at night 
Hang poised above it like a swarm of 
bees. 

CAVALEERI. 

The rose of Rome, but not of Para- 
dise ; 

Not the white rose our Tuscan poet 
saw 

With saints for petals. When this 
rose was perfect 30 

Its hundred thousand petals were not 
saints, 



But senators in their Thessalian caps, 
And all the roaring populace of Rome ; 
And even an Empress and the Vestal 

Virgins, 
Who came to see the gladiators die, 
Could not give sweetness to a rose like 

this. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

I spake not of its uses, but its beauty. 

CAVALIERI. 

The sand beneath our feet is saturate 
With blood of martyrs ; and these 

rifted stones 
Are awful witnesses against a people 4c 
Whose pleasure was the pain of dying 

men. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Tomaso Cavalieri, on my word, 

You should have been a preacher, not 
a painter ! 

Think you that I approve such cruel- 
ties, 

Because I marvel at the architects 



762 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



Who built these walls, and curved 
these noble arches ? 

Oh, I am put to shame, when I con- 
sider 

How mean our work is, when com- 
pared with theirs ! 

Look at these walls about us and 
above us ! 

They have been shaken by earth- 
quakes, have been made 50 

A fortress, and been battered by long 
sieges ; 

The iron clamps, that held the stones 
together, 

Have been wrenched from them ; but 
they stand erect 

And firm, as if they had been hewn 
and hollowed 

Out of the solid rock, and were a part 

Of the foundations of the world itself. 

CAVALIERI. 

Your work, I say again, is nobler 

work, 
In so far as its end and aim are nobler ; 
And this is but a ruin, like the rest. 
Its vaulted passages are made the 

caverns 60 

Of robbers, and are haunted by the 

ghosts 
Of murdered men. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

A thousand wild flowers bloom 
From every chink, and the birds build 

their nests 
Among the ruined arches, and suggest 
New thoughts of beauty to the archi- 
tect. 
Now let us climb the broken stairs 

that lead 
Into the corridors above, and study 
The marvel and the mystery of that 

art 
In which I am a pupil, not a master. 

All things must have an end ; the 
world itself 70 

Must have an end, as in a dream I saw 
it. 

There came a great hand out of hea- 
ven, and touched 

The earth, and stopped it in its course. 
The seas 

Leaped, a vast cataract, into the abyss; 



The forests and the fields slid off, and 

floated 
Like wooded islands in the air. The 

dead 
Were hurled forth from their sepul- 
chres ; the living 
Were mingled with them, and them- 
selves were dead, — 
All being dead ; and the fair, shining 

cities 
Dropped out like jewels from a 

broken crown, 80 

Naught but the core of the great 

globe remained, 
A skeleton of stone. And over it 
The wrack of matter drifted like a 

cloud, 
And then recoiled upon itself, and 

fell 
Back on the empty world, that with 

the weight 
Reeled, staggered, righted, and then 

headlong plunged 
Into the darkness, as a ship, when 

struck 
By a great sea, throws off the waves 

at first 
On either side, then settles and goes 

down 
Into the dark abyss, with her dead 

crew. 90 

CAVALIERI. 

But the earth does not move. 

MICHAEL ANOELO. 

Who knows ? who knows? 
There are great truths that pitch their 

shining tents 
Outside our walls, and though but 

dimly seen 
In the gray dawn, they will be mani- 
fest 
When the light widens into perfect 

day. 
A certain man, Copernicus by name, 
Sometime professor here in Rome, has 

whispered 
It is the earth, and not the sun, that 

moves. 
What I beheld was only in a dream, 
Yet dreams sometimes anticipate 

events, ioo 

Being unsubstantial images of things 
As yet unseen. 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



763 



MACELLO DE' CORVI 

Michael Angelo, Benvenuto Cel- 
lini. 

michael angelo. 
So, Benvenuto, you return once more 
To the Eternal City. 'T is the centre 
To which all gravitates. One finds no 

rest 
Elsewhere than here. There may be 

other cities 
That please us for a while, but Rome 

alone 
Completely satisfies. It becomes to 

all 
A second native land by predilection, 
And not by accident of birth alone. 

BENVENUTO. 

I am but just arrived, and am now 

lodging 
With Bindo Altoviti. I have been 10 
To kiss the feet of our most Holy 

Father, 
And now am come in haste to kiss the 

hands 
Of my miraculous Master. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

And to find him 
Grown very old. 

BENVENUTO. 

You know that precious stones 
Never grow old. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Half sunk beneath the horizon, 
And yet not gone. Twelve years are 

a long while. 
Tell me of France. 

BENVENUTO. 

It were too long a tale 
To tell you all. Suffice in brief to say 
The King received me well, and loved 

me well ; 
Gave me the annual pension that be- 
fore me 20 
Our Leonardo had. nor more nor less, 
And for my residence the Tour de 

Nesle, 
Upon the river-side. 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

A princely lodging. 

BENVENUTO. 

What in return I did now matters not. 
For there are other things, of greater 

moment, 
I wish to speak of. First of all, the 

letter 
You wrote me, not long since, about 

my bust 
Of Bindo Altoviti, here in Rome. 

You said, 
" My Benvenuto, I for many years 
Have known you as the greatest of 

all goldsmiths, 30 

And now I know you as no less a 

sculptor." 
Ah, generous Master! How shall I 

e'er thank you 
For such kind language ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

By believing it. 
I saw the bust at Messer 'Bindo's house, 
And thought it worthy of the ancient 

masters, 
And said so. That is all. 

BENVENUTO. 

It is too much ; 
And I should stand abashed here in 

your presence, 
Had I done nothing worthier of your 

praise 
Than Bindo's bust. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

What have you done that 's better ? 

BENVENUTO. 

When I left Rome for Paris, you re- 
member 40 

I promised you that if I went a gold- 
smith 

I would return a sculptor. I have kept 

The promise I then made. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Dear Benvenuto, 
I recognized the latent genius in you, 
But feared your vices. 

BENVENUTO. 

I have turned them all 
To virtues. My impatient, wayward 
nature, 



764 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



That made me quick in quarrel, now 
has served me 

Where meekness could not, and where 
patience could not, 

As you shall hear now. I have cast 
in bronze 

A statue of Perseus, holding thus 
aloft 50 

In his left hand the head of the Me- 
dusa, 

And in his right the sword that sev- 
ered it ; 

His right foot planted on the lifeless 
corse ; 

His face superb and pitiful, with eyes 

Down-looking on the victim of his 
vengeance. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

I see it as it should be. 

BENVENUTO. 

As it will be 
When it is placed upon the Ducal 

Square, 
Half-way between your David and 

the Judith 
Of Donatello. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Rival of them both ! 

BENVENUTO. 

But ah, what infinite trouble have I 
had 60 

With Bandinello, and that stupid 
beast, 

The major-domo of Duke Cosimo, 

Francesco Ricci, and their wretched 
agent 

Gorini, who came crawling round 
about me 

Like a black spider, with his whining 
voice 

That sounded like the buzz of a mos- 
quito ! 

Oh, I have wept in utter desperation. 

And wished a thousand times I had 
not left 

My Tour de Nesle, nor e'er returned 
to Florence, 

Nor thought of Perseus. What ma- 
lignant falsehoods 70 

They told the Grand Duke, to impede 
my work, 

&.nd make me desperate ! 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

The nimble lie 
Is like the second-hand upon a clock ; 
We see it fly, while the hour-hand of 

truth 
Seems to stand still, and yet it moves 

unseen, 
And wins at last, for the clock will 

not strike 
Till it has reached the goal. 

BENVENUTO. 

My obstinacy 
Stood me in stead, and helped me to 
o'ercome 78 

The hindrances that envy and ill-will 
Put in my way. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

When anything is done 
People see not the patient doing of it, 
Nor think how great would be the loss 

to man 
If it had not been done. As in a 

building 
Stone rests on stone, and wanting the 

foundation 
All would be wanting, so in human 

life 
Each action rests on the foregone 

event, 
That made it possible, but is forgotten 
And buried in the earth. 

BENVENUTO. 

Even Bandinello 

Who never yet spake well of any- 
thing, 

Speaks well of this; and yet he told 
the duke 90 

That, though I cast small figures well 
enough, 

I never could cast this. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

But you have done it, 
And proved Ser Bandinello a false 

prophet. 
That is the wisest way. 

BENVENUTO. 

And ah, that casting! 
What a wild scene it was, as late at 

night, 
A night of wind and rain, we heaped 

the furnace 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



765 



With pine of Serristori, till the flames 
Caught in the rafters over us, and 

threatened 
To send the burning roof upon our 

heads ; 
And from the garden side the wind 

and rain 100 

Poured in upon us, and half quenched 

our fires. 
I was beside myself with desperation. 
A shudder came upon me, then a 

fever ; 
I thought that I was dying, and was 

forced 
To leave the work-shop and to throw 

myself 
Upon my bed, as one who has no hope. 
And as I lay there, a deformed old 

man 
Appeared before me, and with dismal 

voice, 
Like one who doth exhort a criminal 
Led forth to death, exclaimed, " Poor 

Benvenuto, no 

Thy work is spoiled! There is no 

remedy ! " 
Then with a cry so loud it might have 

reached 
The heaven of fire, I bounded to my 

feet, 
And rushed back to my workmen. 

They all stood 
Bewildered and desponding ; and I 

looked 
Into the furnace, and beheld the mass 
Half molten only, and in my despair 
I fed the fire with oak, whose terrible 

heat 
Soon made the sluggish metal shine 

and sparkle. 
Then followed a bright flash, and an 

explosion, 120 

As if a thunderbolt had fallen among 

us. 
The covering of the furnace had been 

rent 
Asunder, and the bronze was flowing 

over ; 
So that I straightway opened all the 

sluices 
To fill the mould. The metal ran like 

lava, 
Sluggish and heavy ; and I sent my 

workmen 
To ransack the whole house, and bring 

together 



My pewter plates and pans, two hun- 
dred of them, 

And cast them one by one into the 
furnace 

To liquefy the mass, and in a mo- 
ment 130 

The mould was filled ! I fell upon my 
knees 

And thanked the Lord ; and then we 
ate and drank 

And went to bed, all hearty and con- 
tented. 

It was two hours before the break of 
day. 

My fever was quite gone. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

A strange adventure, 
That could have happened to no man 

alive 
But you, my Benvenuto. 

BENVENUTO. 

As my workmen said 
To major-domo Ricci afterward 
^hen he inquired of them: '"T was 
not a man, 139 

But an express great devil." 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

And the statue ? 

BENVENUTO. 

Perfect in every part, save the right 

foot 
Of Perseus, as I had foretold the Duke. 
There was just bronze enough to fill 

the mould ; 
Not a drop over, not a drop too little. 
I looked upon it as a miracle 
Wrought by the hand of God. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

And now I see 
How you have turned your vices into 
virtues. 

BENVENUTO. 

But wherefore do I prate of this ? I 
came 

To speak of other things. Duke Co- 
si mo 

Through me invites you to return to 
Florence, 150 

And offers you great honors, even to 
make you 

One of the Forty-Eight, his Senators. 



766 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

His Senators! That is enough. Since 

Florence 
Was changed by Clement Seventh 

from a Republic 
Into a Dukedom, I no longer wish 
To be a Florentine. That dream is 

ended. 
The Grand Duke Cosimo now reigns 

supreme ; 
All liberty is dead. Ah, woe is me ! 
I hoped to see my country rise to 

heights 
Of happiness and freedom yet un- 
reached 160 
By other nations, but the climbing 

wave 
Pauses, lets go its hold, and slides 

again 
Back to the common level, with a 

hoarse 
Death-rattle in its throat. I am too 

old 
To hope for better days. I will stay 

here 
And die in Rome. The very weeds, 

that grow' 
Among the broken fragments of her 

ruins, 
Are sweeter to me than the garden 

flowers 
Of other cities ; and the desolate ring 
Of the Campagna round about her 

walls 170 

Fairer than all the villas that encircle 
The towns of Tuscany. 

BENVENUTO. 

But your old friends! 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

All dead by violence. Baccio Valori 

Has been beheaded; Guicciardini 
poisoned ; 

Philippo Strozzi strangled in his 
prison. 

Is Florence then a place for honest 
men 

To flourish in? What is there to pre- 
vent 

My sharing the same fate ? 

BENVENUTO. 

Why, this: if all 

Your friends are dead, so are your 

enemies. 179 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Is Aretino dead? 

BENVENUTO. 

He lives in Venice, 
And not in Florence. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

'T is the same to me. 
This wretched mountebank, whom 

flatterers 
Call the Divine, as if to make the 

word 
Unpleasant in the mouths of those who 

speak it 
And in the ears of those who hear it, 

sends me 
A letter written for the public eye, 
And with such subtle and infernal 

malice, 
I wonder at his wickedness. 'T is he 
Is the express great devil, and not 

you. 
Some years ago he told me how to 

paint 190 

The scenes of the Last Judgment. 

BENVENUTO. 

I remember. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Well, now he writes to me that, as a 
Christian, 

He is ashamed of the unbounded free- 
dom 

With which I represent it. 



BENVENUTO. 



Hypocrite ! 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

He says I show mankind that I am 
wanting 

In piety and religion, in proportion 

As I profess perfection in my art. 

Profess perfection ? Why, 't is only 
men 

Like Bugiardini who are satisfied 

With what they do. I never am con- 
tent, 200 

But always see the labor of my hand 

Fall short of my conception. 

BENVENUTO. 

I perceive 
The malice of this creature. He would 
taint you 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



767 



With heresy, and in a time like this! 


A spectacle at which all men would gaze 


T is infamous! 


With half-averted eyes even in a 




brothel. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 




I represent the angels 


BENVENUTO. 


Without their heavenly glory, and the 


He is at home there, and he ought to 


saints 


know 


Without a trace of earthly modesty. 


What men avert their eyes from in 




such places; 


BENVENUTO. 


From the Last Judgment chiefly, I 


Incredible audacity ! 


imagine. 22c 









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Benvenuto Cellini 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

The heathen 
Veiled their Diana with some drapery, 
And when they represented Venus 

naked 210 

They made her by her modest attitude 
Appear half clothed. But I, who am 

a Christian, 
Do so subordinate belief to art 
That I have made the very violation 
Of modesty in martyrs and in virgins 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

But divine Providence will never 

leave 
The boldness of my marvellous work 

unpunished ; 
And the more marvellous it is, the 

more 
'T is sure to prove the ruin of my fame ! 
And finally, if in this composition 
I had pursued the instructions that he 

gave me 



768 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



Concerning heaven and hell and para- 
dise, 

In that same letter, known to all the 
world, 

Nature would not be forced, as she is 
now, 

To feel ashamed that she invested 
me 230 

With such great talent ; that I stand 
myself 

A very idol in the world of art. 

He taunts me also with the Mauso- 
leum 

Of Julius, still unfinished, for the rea- 
son 

That men persuaded the inane old 
man 

It was of evil augury to build 

His tomb while he was living ; and he 
speaks 

Of heaps of gold this Pope bequeathed 
to me, 

And calls it robbery; — that is what 
he says. 239 

What prompted such a letter ? 

BENVENUTO. 

Vanity. 
He is a clever writer, and he likes 
To draw his pen, and flourish it in the 

face 
Of every honest man, as swordsmen 

do 
Their rapiers on occasion, but to show 
How skilfully they do it. Had you 

followed 
The advice he gave, or even thanked 

him for it, 
You would have seen another style of 

fence. 
'T is but his wounded vanity, and the 

wish 
To see his name in print. So give it 

not 
A moment's thought ; it will soon be 

forgotten. 250 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

I will not think of it, but let it pass 
For a rude speech thrown at me in the 

street, 
As boys threw stones at Dante. 

BENVENUTO. 

And what answer 
Shall I take back to Grand Duke 

Cosimo ? 



He does not ask your labor or your 

service ; 
Only your presence in the city of 

Florence, 
With such advice upon his work in 

hand 
As he may ask, and you may choose 

to give. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

You have my answer. Nothing he 
can oiler 

Shall tempt me to leave Rome. My 
work is here, 260 

And only here, the building of St. 
Peter's. 

What other things I hitherto have 
done 

Have fallen from me, are no longer 
mine ; 

I have passed on beyond them, and 
have left them 

As milestones on the way. What lies 
before me, 

That is still mine, and while it is un- 
finished 

No one shall draw me from it, or per- 
suade me, 

By promises of ease, or wealth, or 
honor, 

Till I behold the finished dome uprise 

Complete, as now I see it in my 
thought. 270 

BENVENUTO. 

And will you paint no more ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

No more. 

BENVENUTO. 

'T is well. 
Sculpture is more divine, and more 

like Nature, 
That fashions all her works in high 

relief, 
And that is sculpture. This vast ball, 

the Earth, 
Was moulded out of clay, and baked 

in fire ; 
Men, women, and all animals that 

breathe 
Are statues and not paintings. Even 

the plants, 
The flowers, the fruits, the grasses, 

were first sculptured, 
And colored later. Painting is a lie, 
A shadow merely. 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



769 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Truly, as you say, 

Sculpture is more than painting. It 
is greater 281 

To raise the dead to life than to create 

Phantoms that seem to live. The 
most majestic 

Of the three sister arts is that which 
builds ; 

The eldest of them all, to whom the 
others 

Are but the handmaids and the servi- 
tors, 

Being but imitation, not creation. 

Henceforth I dedicate myself to her. 

BENVENUTO. 

And no more from the marble hew 
those forms 289 

That fill us all with wonder ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Many statues 

Will there be room for in my work. 
Their station 

Already is assigned them in my mind. 

But things move slowly. There are 
hindrances, 

Want of material, want of means, de- 
lays 

And interruptions, endless interference 

Of Cardinal Commissioners, and dis- 
putes 

And jealousies of artists, that annoy 
me. 

But I will persevere until the work 

Is wholly finished, or till I sink down 

Surprised by Death, that unexpected 
guest, 300 

Who waits for no man's leisure, but 
steps in, 

Unasked and unannounced, to put a 
stop 

To all our occupations and designs. 

And then perhaps I may go back to 
Florence ; 

This is my answer to Duke Cosimo. 

VI 

MICHAEL ANGELO' S STUDIO 

Michael Angelo and Urbino 

Michael angelo, pausing in his work. 
Urbino, thou and I are both old men. 
My strength begins to fail me. 



URBINO. 

Eccellenza, 
That is impossible. Do I not see you 
Attack the marble blocks with the 

same fury 
As twenty years ago ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

'T is an old habit. 
I must have learned it early from my 

nurse 
At Setignano, the stone-mason's wife ; 
For the first sounds I heard were of 

the chisel 
Chipping away the stone. 

URBINO. 

At every stroke 
You strike fire with your chisel. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Aye, because 10 
The marble is too hard. 

URBINO. 

It is a block 
That Topolino sent you from Carrara. 
He is a judge of marble. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

I remember. 

With it he sent me something of his 
making, — 

A Mercury, with long body and short 
legs, 

As if by any possibility 

A messenger of the gods could have 
short legs. 

It was no more like Mercury than you 
are, 

But rather like those little plaster fig- 
ures 

That peddlers hawk about the vil- 
lages 20 

As images of saints. But luckily 

For Topolino, there are many people 

Who see no difference between what 
is best 

And what is only good, or not even 
good ; 

So that poor artists stand in their es 
teem 

On the same level with the best, Oi 
higher. 

URBINO. 

How Eccellenza laughed ! 



77° 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Poor Topolino ! 
All men are not born artists, nor will 

labor 
E'er make them artists. 

URBINO. 

No, no more 

Than Emperors, or Popes, or Cardi- 
nals. 30 

One must be chosen for it. I have 
been 

Your color-grinder six and twenty 
years, 

And am not yet an artist. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Some have eyes 
That see not ; but in every block of 

marble 
I see a statue, — see it as distinctly 
As if it stood before me shaped and 

perfect 
In attitude and action. I have only 
To hew away the stone walls that im- 
prison 
The lovely apparition, and reveal it 
Toother eyes as mine already see it. 40 
But I grow old and weak. What wilt 

thou do 
When I am dead, Urbino ? 

URBINO. 

Eccellenza, 
I must then serve another master. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Never ! 
Bitter is servitude at best. Already 
So many years hast thou been serving 

♦me ; 
But rather as a friend than as a ser- 
vant. 
We have grown old together. Dost 

thou think 
So meanly of this Michael Angelo 
As to imagine he would let thee serve, 
When he is free from service ? Take 
this purse, s° 

Two thousand crowns in gold. 

URBINO. 

Two thousand crowns ! 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Ay, it will make thee rich. Thou 

shalt not die 
A beggar in a hospital. 



URBINO. 



Oh, Master! 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

I cannot have them with me on the 

journey 
That I am undertaking. The last 

garment 
That men will make for me will have 

no pockets. 

urbino, kissing the hand of michael 

ANGELO. 

My generous master ! 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Hush ! 
URBINO. 

My Providence ! 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Not a word more. Go now to bed, old 

man. 
Thou hast served Michael Angelo. 

Remember, 
Henceforward thou shalt serve no 

other master. 60 



VII 

THE OAKS OF MONTE LUCA 

michael angelo, alone in the woods. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

How still it is among these ancient 
oaks ! 

Surges and undulations of the air 

Uplift the leafy boughs, and let them 
fall 

With scarce a sound. Such sylvan 
quietudes 

Become old age. These huge centen- 
nial oaks, 

That may have heard in infancy the 
trumpets 

Of Barbarossa's cavalry, deride 

Man's brief existence, that with all 
his strength 

He cannot stretch beyond the hun- 
dredth year. 

This little acorn, turbaned like the 
Turk, 10 

Which with my foot I spurn, may be 
an oak 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



77i 



Hereafter, feeding' with its bitter mast 
The tierce wild-boar, and tossing in its 

arms 
The cradled nests of birds, when all 

the men 
That now inhabit this vast universe, 
They and their children, and their 

children's children. 
Shall be but dust and mould, and 

nothing more. 
Through openings in the trees I see 

" below me 
The valley of Clitumnus, with its farms 
And snow-white oxen grazing in the 

shade 20 

Of the tall poplars on the river's brink. 
O Nature, gentle mother, tender nurse! 
I, who have never loved thee as I 

ought, 
But wasted all my years immured in 

cities, 
And breathed the stifling atmosphere 

of streets. 
Now come to thee for refuge. Here 

is peace. 
Yonder I see the little hermitages 
Dotting the mountain side with points 

of light, 
And here St. Julian's convent, like a 

nest 



Of curlews, clinging to some windy 
cliff. 30 

Beyond the broad, illimitable plain 

Down sinks the sun, red as Apollo's 
quoit, 

That, by the envious Zephyr blown 
aside, 

Struck Hyacinthus dead, and stained 
the earth 

With his young blood, that blossomed 
into flowers. 

And now, instead of these fair dei- 
ties, 

Dread demons haunt the earth ; her- 
mits inhabit 

The leafy homes of sylvan Hamadry- 
ads ; 

And jovial friars, rotund and rubi- 
cund, 

Replace the old Silenus with his ass. 40 

Here underneath these venerable oaks, 
Wrinkled and brown and gnarled like 

them with age, 
A brother of the monastery sits, 
Lost in his meditations. What may 

be 
The questions that perplex, the hopes 

that cheer him ? — 
Good-evening, holy father. 



IJ^Jk, V ^^^'f^|?| ' 






w^ik 



" Take this purse, 
Two thousand crowns in gold " 



772 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



MONK. 

God be with you. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Pardon a stranger if he interrupt 
Your meditations. 

MONK. 

It was but a dream, — 
The old, old dream, that never will 

come true ; 
The dream that all my life I have 

been dreaming, 50 

And yet is still a dream. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

All men have dreams. 

I have had mine ; but none of them 
came true ; 

They were but vanity. Sometimes I 
think 

The happiness of man lies in pursu- 
ing, 

Not in possessing ; for the things pos- 
sessed 

Lose half their value. Tell me of your 
dream. 

MONK. 

The yearning of my heart, my sole de- 
sire, 

That like the sheaf of Joseph stands 
upright, 

While all the others bend and bow to 
it; 

The passion that torments me, and 
that breathes 60 

New meaning into the dead forms of 
prayer, 

Is that with mortal eyes I may behold 

The Eternal City. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Rome? 

MONK. 

There is but one ; 
The rest are merely names. I think 

of it 
As the Celestial City, paved with 

gold, 
And sentinelled with angels. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Would it were. 
I have just fled from it. It is be- 
leaguered 



By Spanish troops, led by the Duke 
of Alva. 

MONK. 

But still for me 't is the Celestial City, 
And I would see it once before I die. 70 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Each one must bear his cross. 

MONK. 

Were it a cross 
That had been laid upon me, I could 

bear it, 
Or fall with it. It is a crucifix ; 
I am nailed hand and foot, and I am 

dying! 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

What would you see in Rome ? 

MONK. 

His Holiness. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Him that was once the Cardinal Ca- 

raffa? 
You would but see a man of fourscore 

years, 
With sunken eyes, burning like car- 
buncles, 
Who sits at table with his friends for 

hours, 
Cursing the Spaniards as a race of 

Jews 80 

And miscreant Moors. And with what 

soldiery 
Think you he now defends the Eternal 

City? 

MONK. 

With legions of bright angels. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

So he calls them ; 
And yet in fact these bright angelic- 
legions 
Are only German Lutherans. 

monk, crossing himself. 

Heaven protect us! 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

What further would you see ? 

MONK. 

The Cardinals, 
Going in their gilt coaches to High 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



773 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Men do not go to Paradise in coaches. 

monk. 
The catacombs, the convents, and the 

churches ; 
The ceremonies of the Holy Week 90 
In all their pomp, or, at the Epi- 
phany, 
The feast of the Santissimo Bambino 
At. Ara Cceli. But I shall not see 
them. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

These pompous ceremonies of the 

Church 
Are but an empty show to him who 

knows 
The actors in them. Stay here in your 

convent, 
For he who goes to Rome may see too 

much. 
What would you further ? 

MONK. 

I would see the painting 
Of the Last Judgment in the Sistine 
Chapel. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

The smoke of incense and of altar 
candles 100 

Has blackened it already. 

MONK. 

Woe is me ! 
Then I would hear Allegri's Miserere, 
Sung by the Papal choir. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

A dismal dirge ! 

I am an old, old man, and I have lived 

In Rome for thirty years and more and 
know 

The jarring of the wheels of that great 
world, 

Its jealousies, its discords, and its 
strife. 

Therefore I say to you, remain con- 
tent 

Here in your convent, here among 
your woods, 

Where only there is peace. Go not to 
Rome. no 

There was of old a monk of Witten- 
berg 



Who went to Rome; you may have 

heard of him ; 
His name was Luther ; and you know 

what followed. 

[The convent bell rings. 

monk, rising. 

It is the convent bell ; it rings for ves- 
pers. 

Let us go in ; we both will pray for 
peace. 

VIII 

THE DEAD CHRIST 

Michael Angelo's Studio. Michael 
Angelo, with a light, working upon 
the Dead Christ. Midnight. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Death, why is it I cannot portray 
Thy form and features ? Do I stand 

too near thee? 
Or dost thou hold my hand, and draw 

me back, 
As being thy disciple, not thy master ? 
Let him who knows not what old age 

• is like 
Have patience till it comes, and he 

will know. 

1 once had skill to fashion Life and 

Death 
And Sleep, which is the counterfeit of 

Death ; 
And I remember what Giovanni Stroz- 

zi 
Wrote underneath my statue of the 

Kiglit xo 

In San Lorenzo, ah, so long ago! 
Grateful to me is sleep ! More grateful 

now 
Than it was then ; for all my friends 

are dead ; 
And she is dead, the noblest of them 

all. 
I saw her face, when the great sculp- 
tor Death, 
Whom men should call Divine, had at 

a blow 
Stricken her into marble ; and I kissed 
Her cold white hand. What was it 

held me back 
From kissing her fair forehead, and 

those lips, 
Those dead, dumb lips? Grateful to 

me is sleep ! 20 



774 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



Enter Giorgio Vasari. 

GIORGIO. 

Good-evening, or good-morning, for 

I know not 
Which of the two it is. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

How came you in? 

GIORGIO. 

Why, by the door, as all men do. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Ascanio 
Must have forgotten to bolt it. 

GIORGIO. 

Probably. 
A.m I a spirit, or so like a spirit, 
That I could slip through bolted door 

or window ? 
As I was passing down the street, I 

saw 
A glimmer of light, and heard the 

well-known chink 
Of chisel upon marble. Sol entered, 
To see what keeps you from your bed 

so late. 30 

michael angelo, coming forward with 

the lamp. 
You have been revelling with your 

boon companions, 
Giorgio Vasari, and you come to me 
At an untimely hour. 

GIORGIO. 

The Pope hath sent me. 
His Holiness desires to see again 
The drawing you once showed him of 

the dome 
Of the Basilica. 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

We will look for it. 

GIORGIO. 

What is the marble group that glim- 
mers there 
Behind you ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Nothing, and yet everything, — 
As one may take it. It is my own 

tomb 
That I am building. 

GIORGIO. 

Do not hide it from me. 
By our long friendship and the love I 
bear you, 41 

Refuse me not ! 

michael angelo, letting fall the 
lamp. 
Life hath become to me 

An empty theatre, — its lights extin- 
guished, 

The music silent, and the actors 
gone ; 

And I alone sit musing on the scenes 

That once have been. I am so old 
that Death 

Oft plucks me by the cloak, to come 
with him ; 

And some day, like this lamp, shall I 
fall down, 

And my last spark of life will be ex- 
tinguished. 

Ah me! ah me! what darkness of 
despair ! 50 

So near to death, and yet so far from 
God. 



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" Faith wings the soul beyond the sky 



TRANSLATIONS 



PRELUDE 

J.s treasures that men seek, 
Beep buried in sea-sands, 

Vanish if they but speak, 
And elude their eager hands, - 

So ye escape and slip, 
songs, and fade away, 

When the word is on my lip 
To interpret what ye say. 

Were it not better, then, 
To let the treasures rest 

Hid from the eyes of men 
Locked in their iron chest f 

I have but marked the place, 
But half the secret told, 

That, following this slight trace, 
Others may find the gold. 



FBOM THE SPANISH 
COPLAS DE MANRIQUE 

Oh let the soul her slumbers break, 
Let thought be quickened, and awake ■ 
Awake to see 

How soon this life is past and gone, 
And death comes softly stealing on, 
How silently! 

Swiftly our pleasures glide away, 
Our hearts recall the distant day 
With many sighs; 

The moments that are speeding fast io 
We heed not, but the past, — the 

past, 
More highly prize. 

Onward its course the present keeps, 
Onward the constant current sweeps, 



776 



TRANSLATIONS 



Till life is done ; 

And, did we judge of time aright, 
The past and future in their flight 
Would be as one. 

Let no one fondly dream again, 19 

That Hope and all her shadowy train 
Will not decay ; 

Fleeting as were the dreams of old, 
Remembered like a tale that 's told, 
They pass away. 

Our lives are rivers, gliding free 

To that unfathomed, boundless sea, 

The silent grave ! 

Thither all earthly pomp and boast 

Roll, to be swallowed up and lost 

In one dark wave. 30 

Thither the mighty torrents stray, 
Thither the brook pursues its way, 
And tinkling rill. 
There all are equal ; side by side 
The poor man and the son of pride 
Lie calm and still. 

I will not here invoke the throng 

Of orators and sons of song, 

The deathless few ; 

Fiction entices and deceives, 40 

And, sprinkled o'er her fragrant 

leaves, 
Lies poisonous dew. 

To One alone my thoughts arise, 
The Eternal Truth, the Good and 

Wise, 
To Him I cry, 

Who shared on earth our common lot, 
But the world comprehended not 
His deity. 

This world is but the rugged road 
Which leads us to the bright abode 50 
Of peace above ; 

So let us choose that narrow way, 
Which leads no traveller's foot astray 
From realms of love. 

Our cradle is the starting-place, 

Life is the running of the race, 

We reach the goal 

When, in the mansions of the blest, 

Death leaves to its eternal rest 

The weary soul. 60 



Did we but use it as we ought, 
This world would school each wan- 
dering thought 
To its high state. 

Faith wings the soul beyond the sky, 
Up to that better world on high, 
For which we wait. 

Yes, the glad messenger of love, 
To guide us to our home above, 
The Saviour came ; 
Born amid mortal cares and fears, 70 
He suffered in this vale of tears 
A death of shame. 

Behold of what delusive worth 
The bubbles we pursue on earth, 
The shapes we chase 
Amid a world of treachery ! 
They vanish ere death shuts the eye, 
And leave no trace. 

Time steals them from us, chances 

strange, 
Disastrous accident, and change, 80 
That come to all ; 
Even in the most exalted state, 
Relentless sweeps the stroke of fate; 
The strongest fall. 

Tell me, the charms that lovers seek 
In the clear eye and blushing cheek, 
The hues that play 
O'er rosy lip and brow of snow, 
When hoary age approaches slow, 
Ah ; where are they ? 90 

The cunning skill, the curious arts. 
The glorious strength that youth im- 
parts 
In life's first stage; 
These shall become a heavy weight, 
When Time swings wide his outward 

gate 
To weary age. 

The noble blood of Gothic name, 
Heroes emblazoned high to fame, 
In long array ; 

How, in the onward course of time, iw 
The landmarks of that race sublime 
Were swept away ! 

Some, the degraded slaves of lust, 
Prostrate and trampled in the dust, 
Shall rise no more ; 



COPLAS DE MANRIQUE 



777 



Others, by guilt and crime, maintain 
The scutcheon, that, without a stain, 
Their fathers bore. 

Wealth and the high estate of pride, 
With what untimely speed they glide, 
How soon depart ! m 

Bid not the shadowy phantoms stay, 
The vassals of a mistress they, 
Of fickle heart. 

These gifts in Fortune's hands are 

found ; 
Her swift revolving wheel turns 

round, 
And they are gone ! 
No rest the inconstant goddess knows, 
But changing, and without repose, 
Still hurries on. 120 

Even could the hand of avarice save 
Its gilded baubles, till the grave 
Reclaimed its prey, 
Let none on such poor hopes rely ; 
Life, like an empty dream, flits by, 
And where are they ? 

Earthly desires and sensual lust 

Are passions springing from the dust, 

They fade and die ; 

But, in the life beyond the tomb, 130 

They seal the immortal spirit's doom 

Eternally ! 

The pleasures and delights, which 

mask 
In treacherous smiles life's serious 

task, 
What are they all 
But the fleet coursers of the chase, 
And death an ambush in the race, 
Wherein we fall ? 

No foe, no dangerous pass, we heed, 
Brook no delay, but onward speed 140 
With loosened rein ; 
And, when the fatal snare is near, 
We strive to check our mad career, 
But strive in vain. 

Could we new charms to age impart, 
And fashion with a cunning art 
The human face, 

As we can clothe the soul with light, 
And make the glorious spirit bright 
With heaveDly grace, 150 



How busily each passing hour 
Should we exert that magic power ! 
What ardor show, 
To deck the sensual slave of sin, 
Yet leave the freeborn soul within, 
In weeds of woe 1 

Monarchs, the powerful and the 

strong, 
Famous in history and in song 
Of olden time, 

Saw, by the stern decrees of fate, 160 
Their kingdoms lost, and desolate 
Their race sublime. 

Who is the champion ? who the strong ? 
Pontiff and priest, and sceptred 

throng ? 
On these shall fall 
As heavily the hand of Death, 
As when it stays the shepherd's breath 
Beside his stall. 

I speak not of the Trojan name, 
Neither its glory nor its shame 170 
Has met our eyes ; 

Nor of Rome's great and glorious dead, 
Though we have heard so oft, and 

read, / 

Their histories. 

Little avails it now to know 

Of ages passed so long ago, 

Nor how they rolled ; 

Our theme shall be of yesterday, 

Which to oblivion sweeps away, 

Like days of old. 180 

Where is the King, Don Juan ? Where 
Each royal prince and noble heir 
Of Aragon ? 

Where are the courtly gallantries ? 
The deeds of love and high emprise, 
In battle done ? 

Tourney and joust, that charmed the 

eye, 
And scarf, and gorgeous panoply, 
And nodding plume, 
What were they but a pageant scene ? 
What but the garlands, gay and green, 
That deck the tomb ? 192 

Where are the high-born dames, and 

where 
Their gay attire, and jewelled hair, 



77 8 



TRANSLATIONS 



And odors sweet ? 

Where are the gentle knights, that 

came 
To kneel, and breathe love's ardent 

flame, 
Low at their feet ? 

Where is the song of Troubadour ? 

Where are the lute and gay tam- 
bour 200 

They loved of yore ? 

Where is the mazy dance of old, 

The flowing robes, inwrought with 
gold, 

The dancers wore ? 

And he who next the Sceptre swayed, 
Henry, whose royal court displayed 
Such power and pride ; 
Oh, in what winning smiles arrayed, 
The world its various pleasures laid 
His throne beside ! 210 

But oh, how false and full of guile 
That world, which wore so soft a smile 
But to betray ! 

She, that had been his friend before, 
Now from the fated monarch tore 
Her charms away. 

The countless gifts, the stately walls, 
The royal palaces, and halls, 



All filled with gold ; 
Plate with armorial 

wrought, 
Chambers with ample 

fraught 
Of wealth untold ; 



bearings 

220 

treasures 



The noble steeds, and harness bright, 
And gallant lord, and stalwart knight, 
In rich array, 

Where shall we seek them now ? Alas ! 
Like the bright dewdrops on the grass, 
They passed away. 

His brother, too, whose factious zeal 
Unsurped the sceptre of Castile, 230 
Unskilled to reign ; 
What a gay, brilliant court had he, 
When all the flower of chivalry 
Was in his train ! 

But he was mortal ; and the breath 
That flamed from the hot forge of 

Death 
Blasted his years ; 
J udgment of God ! that flame by 

thee, 
When raging fierce and fearfully, 
Was quenched in tears ! 240 

Spain's haughty Constable, the true 
And gallant Master, whom we knew 




. . . " the gentle knights, that came 
To kneel, and breathe love's ardent flame " 



COPLAS DE MANRIQUE 



779 




Spain's Champion " 



Most loved of all ; 
Breathe not a whisper of his pride. 
He on the gloomy scaffold died, 
Ignoble fall ! 

The countless treasures of his care, 
His villages and villas fair, 
His mighty power, 

What were they all but grief and 
shame, 250 

Tears and a broken heart; when came 
The parting hour ? 

His other brothers, proud and high, 
Masters, who, in prosperity, 
Might rival kings; 
Who made the bravest and the best 
The bondsmen of their high behest, 
Their underlings ; 

What was their prosperous estate. 
When high exalted and elate 260 

With power and pride? 
What, but a transient gleam of light, 
A flame, which, glaring at its height, 
Grew dim and died ? 

So many a duke of royal name, 
Marquis and count of spotless fame, 
And baron brave, 
That might the sword of empire wield, 



All these, O Death, hast thou concealed 
In the dark grave! 270 

Their deeds of mercy and of arms, 
In peaceful days, or war's alarms, 
When thou dost show, 
O Death, thy stern and angry face, 
One stroke of thy all-powerful mace 
Can overthrow. 

Unnumbered hosts, that threaten nigh, 
Pennon and standard flaunting high, 
And flag displayed ; 279 

High battlements intrenched around, 
Bastion, and moated wall, and mound, 
And palisade, 

And covered trench, secure and deep. 
All these cannot one victim keep, 
O Death, from thee, 
When thou dost battle in thy wrath. 
And thy strong shafts pursue tt&.r 

path 
Unerringly. 

World ! so few the years we live, 
Would that the life which thou dost 
give 29a 

Were life indeed ! 
Alas ! thy sorrows fall so fast, 
Our happiest hour is when at last 
The soul is freed. 



78c 



TRANSLATIONS 



Our days are covered o'er with grief, 

And sorrows neither few nor brief 

Veil all in gloom ; 

Left desolate of real good, 

Within this cheerless solitude 

No pleasures bloom. 3 oo 

Thy pilgrimage begins in tears, 
And ends in bitter doubts and fears, 
Or dark despair ; 
Midway so many toils appear, 
That he who lingers longest here 
Knows most of care. 

Thy goods are bought with many a 

groan, 
By the hot sweat of toil alone, 
And weary hearts ; 

Fleet-footed is the approach of woe, 310 
But with a lingering step and slow 
Its form departs. 

And he, the good man's shield and 

shade, 
To whom all hearts their homage 

paid, 
As Virtue's son, 

Roderic Manrique, he whose name 
Is written on the scroll of Fame, 
Spain's champion ; 

His signal deeds and prowess high 
Demand no pompous eulogy, 320 

Ye saw his deeds ! 
Why should their praise in verse be 

sung ? 
The name, that dwells on every tongue, 
No minstrel needs. 

To friends a friend ; how kind to all 

The vassals of this ancient hall 

And feudal fief ! 

To foes how stern a foe was he ! 

And to the valiant and the free 

How brave a chief ! 330 

What prudence with the old and wise : 

What grace in youthful gayeties ; 

In all how sage ! 

Benignant to the serf and slave, 

He showed the base and falsely brave 

A lion's rage. 

His was Octavian's prosperous star, 
The rush of Caesar's conquering car 
At battle's call ; 



His, Scipio's virtue ; his, the skill 34 o 
And the indomitable will 
Of Hannibal. 

His was a Trajan's goodness, his 

A Titus' noble charities 

And righteous laws ; 

The arm of Hector, and the might 

Of Tully, to maintain the right 

In truth's just cause; 



350 



The clemency of Antonine, 
Aurelius' countenance divine, 
Firm, gentle, still ; 
The eloquence of Adrian, 
And Theodosius' love to man, 
And generous will ; 



In tented field and bloody fray, 

An Alexander's vigorous sway 

And stern command; 

The faith of Constantine ; ay, more, 

The fervent love Camillus bore 

His native land. 3 6c 

He left no well-filled treasury, 

He heaped no pile of riches high, 

Nor massive plate ; 

He fought the Moors, and, in their fall, 

City and tower and castled wall 

Were his estate. 

Upon the hard-fought battle-ground, 
Brave steeds and gallant riders found 
A common grave ; 369 

And there the warrior's hand did gain 
The rents, and the long vassal train, 
That conquest gave. 

And if of old his halls* displayed 
The honored and exalted grade 
His worth had gained, 
So, in the dark, disastrous hour, 
Brothers and bondsmen of his power 
His hand sustained. 

After high deeds, not left untold, 

In the stern warfare which of old 380 

'T was his to share, 

Such noble leagues he made that more 

And fairer regions than before 

His guerdon were. 

These are the records, half effaced, 
Which, with the hand of youth, he 
traced 



COPLAS DE MANR1QUE 



781 



On history's page ; 

But with fresh victories he drew 

Each fading character anew 

In his old age. 390 

By his unrivalled skill, by great 
And veteran service to the state, 
By worth adored, 
He stood, in his high dignity, 
The proudest knight of chivalry, 
Knight of the Sword. 

Me found his cities and domains 
Beneath a tyrant's galling chains 
And cruel power ; 

But, by fierce battle and blockade, 400 
Soon his own banner was displayed 
From every tower. 

By the tried valor of his hand, 

His monarch and his native land 

Were nobly served ; 

Let Portugal repeat the story, 

And proud Castile, who shared the 

glory 
His arms deserved. 

And when so oft, for weal or woe, 
His life upon the fatal throw 410 

Had been cast down ; 
When he had served, with patriot 

zeal, 
Beneath the banner of Castile, 
His sovereign's crown ; 

And done such deeds of valor strong, 

That neither history nor song 

Can count them all ; 

Then, on Ocafia's castled rock, 

Death at his portal came to knock, 

With sudden call, 420 

Saying, "Good Cavalier, prepare 
To leave this world of toil and care 
With joyful mien ; 
Let thy strong heart of steel this day 
Put on its armor for the fray, 
The closing scene. 

"Since thou hast been, in battle 

strife, 
So prodigal of health and life, 
For earthly fame, 

Let virtue nerve thy heart again ; 43 o 
Loud on the last stern battle-plain 
They call thy name. 



"Think not the struggle that draws 

near 
Too terrible for man, nor fear 
To meet the foe ; 
Nor let thy noble spirit grieve, 
Its life of glorious fame to leave 
On earth below. 

" A life of honor and of worth 

Has no eternity on earth, 440 

'T is but a name ; 

And yet its glory far exceeds 

That base and sensual life, which 

leads 
To want and shame. 

" The eternal life, beyond the sky, 
Wealth cannot purchase, nor the high 
And proud estate; 
The soul in dalliance laid, the spirit 
Corrupt with sin, shall not inherit 
A joy so great. 4S o 

' ' But the good monk, in cloistered 
cell, 

Shall gain it by his book and bell, 

His prayers and tears ; 

And the brave knight, whose arm en- 
dures 

Fierce battle, and against the Moors 

His standard rears. 

" And thou, brave knight, whose 

hand has poured 
The life-blood of the Pagan horde 
O'er all the land, 
In heaven shalt thou receive, at 

length, 460 

The guerdon of thine earthly strength 
And dauntless hand. 

" Cheered onward by this promise 

sure, 
Strong in the faith entire and pure 
Thou dost profess, 
Depart, thy hope is certainty, 
The third, the better life on high 
Shalt thou possess." 

" O Death, no more, no more delay ; 
My spirit longs to flee away, 470 

And be at rest ; 
The will of Heaven my will shall 

be, 
I bow to the divine decree, 
To God's behest. 



782 



TRANSLATIONS 



" My soul is ready to depart, 

No thought rebels, the obedient heart 

Breathes forth no sigh ; 

The wish on earth to linger still 

Were vain, when 't is God's sovereign 

will 
That we shall die. 480 

" O thou, that for our sins didst take 
A human form, and humbly make 
Thy home on earth ; 
Thou, that to thy divinity 
A human nature didst ally 
By mortal birth, 

' ' And in that form didst suffer here 

Torment, and agony, and fear, 

So patiently ; 

By thy redeeming grace alone, 490 

And not for merits of my own, 

Oh, pardon me ! " 

As thus the dying warrior prayed, 
Without one gathering mist or shade 
Upon his mind ; 
Encircled by his family, 
Watched by affection's gentle eye 
So soft and kind ; 

His soul to Him who gave it rose ; 
God lead it to its long repose, 500 

Its glorious rest ! 
And, though the warrior's sun has 

set, 
Its light shall linger round us yet, 
Bright, radiant, blest. 



SONNETS 



THE GOOD SHEPHERD 
(El Buen Pastor) 
BY LOPE DE VEGA 

Shepherd ! who with thine amorous, 
sylvan song 

Hast broken the slumber that en- 
compassed me, 

Who mad'st thy crook from the 
accursed tree, 

On which thy powerful arms were 
stretched so long ! 



Lead me to mercy's ever-flowing foun- 
tains ; 
For thou my shepherd, guard, and 

guide shalt be ; 
I will obey thy voice, and wait to 

see 
Thy feet all beautiful upon the 

mountains. 
Hear, Shepherd ! thou who for thy 

flock art dying, 
Oh, wash away these scarlet sins. 

for thou 
Rejoicest at the contrite sinner's 

vow. 
Oh, wait ! to thee my weary soul is 

crying, 
Wait for me ! Yet why ask it, when 

I see, 
With feet nailed to the cross, thou 'rt 

waiting still for me ! 



II 



TO-MORROW 

(Manana) 

BY LOPE DE VEGA 

Lord, what am I, that, with unceas- 
ing care, 

Thou didst seek after me, that thou 
didst wait, 

Wet with unhealthy dews, before 
my gate, 

And pass the gloomy nights of win- 
ter there ? 
Oh, strange delusion, that I did not 
greet 

Thy blest approach! and oh, to 
Heaven how lost, 

If my ingratitude's unkindly frost 

Has chilled the bleeding wounds 
upon thy feet! 
How oft my guardian angel gently 
cried, 

" Soul, from thy casement look, and 
thou shalt see 

How he persists to knock and wait 
for thee ! " 
And, oh! how often to that voice of 
sorrow, 

"To-morrow we will open," I re 
plied, 

And when the morrow came I an- 
swered still, "To-morrow." 



THE BROOK 



783 



ill 
THE NATIVE LAND 

(El Patrio Cielo) 

BY PR AN CISCO DE ALDAN A 

Clear fount of light ! my native land 

on high, 
Bright with a glory that shall never 

fade ! 
Mansion of truth! without a veil or 

shade, 
Thy holy quiet meets the spirit's 

eye. 
There dwells the soul in its ethereal 

essence, 
Gasping no longer for life's feeble 

breath : 
But, sentinelled in heaven, its glori- 
ous presence 
With pitying eye beholds, yet fears 

not, death. 
Beloved country ! banished from thy 

shore, 
A stranger in this prison-house of 

day, 
The exiled spirit weeps and sighs 

for thee ! 
Heavenward the bright perfections I 

adore 
Direct, and the sure promise cheers 

the way, 
That, whither love aspires, there 

shall my dwelling be. 

IV 

THE IMAGE OF GOD 
(La ImAgen de Dios) 

BY FRANCISCO DE ALDANA 

O Lord! who seest, from yon starry 

height, 
Centred in one the future and the 

past. 
Fashioned in thine own image, see 

how fast 
The world obscures in me what once 

was bright ! 
Eternal Sun! the warmth which thou 

hast given, 
To cheer life's flowery April, fast 

decays ; 



Yet, in the hoary winter of my days. 
Forever green shall be my trust' in 

Heaven. ' 
Celestial King ! oh let thy presence 

pass 
Before my spirit, and an image fair 
Shall meet that look of mercy from 

on high, 
As the reflected image in a glass 
Doth meet the look of him who 

seeks it there. 
And owes its being to the gazer's 

eye. 



THE BROOK 



(A UN Arroyuelo) 



ANONYMOUS 



Laugh of the mountain ! — lyre of 

bird and tree! 
Pomp of Hie meadow ! mirror of the 

morn ! 
The soul of April, unto whom are 

born 
The rose and jessamine, leaps wild 

in thee ! 
Although, where'er thy devious cur- 
rent strays. 
The lap of earth with gold and 

silver teems. 
To me thy clear proceeding brighter 

seems 
Than golden sands, that charm each 

shepherd's gaze, 
How without guile thy bosom, all 

transparent 
As the pure crystal, lets the curious 

eye 
Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, round 

pebbles count ! 
How. without malice murmuring, 

glides thy current! 
O sweet simplicity of days gone by! 
Thou shun' st the haunts of man, "to 

dwell in limpid fount ! 



ANCIENT SPANISH BALLADS 

In the chapter with this title in Outrc-Mer, be- 
sides illustrations from Byron and Lockhart are 
the three following examples, contributed by Mr. 
Longfellow. 



7 8 4 



TRANSLATIONS 



I 



Rio Verde, Rio Verde ! 

Many a corpse is bathed in thee, 
Both of Moors and eke of Christians, 

Slain with swords most cruelly. 

And thy pure and crystal waters 
Dappled are with crimson gore ; 

For between the Moors and Chris- 
tians 
Long has been the fight and sore. 

Dukes and counts fell bleeding near 
thee, 

Lords of high renown were slain. 
Perished many a brave hidalgo 

Of the noblemen of Spain. 



II 



" King Alfonso the Eighth, having exhausted 
his treasury in war, wishes to lay a tax of five 
farthings upon each of the Castilian hidalgos, in 
order to defray the expenses of a journey from 
Burgos to Cuenca. This proposition of the king 
was met with disdain by the noblemen who had 
been assembled on the occasion." 

Don Nuno, Count of Lara, 

In anger and in pride, 
Forgot all reverence for the king, 

And thus in wrath replied : 



" Our noble ancestors," quoth he, 
" Ne'er such a tribute paid; 

Nor shall the king receive of us 
What they have once gainsaid. 

"The base-born soul who deems it 
just 

May here with thee remain ; 
But follow me, ye cavaliers, 

Ye noblemen of Spain." 

Forth followed they the noble Count, 
They marched to Glera's plain ; 

Out of three thousand gallant knights 
Did only three remain. 

They tied the tribute to their spears, 

They raised it in the air, 
And they sent to tell their lord the 

king 
That his tax was ready there. 




may send and take 
force," said they, 
" This paltry sum of gold ; 
But the goodly gift of liberty 
Cannot be bought and sold. " 



Where'er thy devious current strays 



VIDA DE SAN MILLAN 



785 



III 

"One of the finest of the historic ballads is 
that which describes Bernardo's march to Ronces- 
valles. He sallies forth ' with three thousand Le- 
onese and more.' to protect the glory and freedom 
of his native land. From all sides, the peasantry 
of the land flock to the hero's standard." 

The peasant leaves his plough afield, 
The reaper leaves his hook, 

And from his hand the shepherd -boy 
Lets fall the pastoral crook. 

The young set up a shout of joy, 

The old forget their years. 
The feeble man grows stout of heart, 

No more the craven fears. 

All rush to Bernard's standard, 
And on liberty they call ; 10 

They cannot brook to wear the yoke, 
When threatened by the Gaul. 

"Free were we born," 't is thus they 
cry, 

"And willingly pay we 
The duty that we owe our king, 

By the divine decree. 

"But God forbid that we obey 
The laws of foreign knaves, 

Tarnish the glory of our sires, 
And make our children slaves. 20 

" Our hearts have not so craven grown, 

So bloodless all our veins, 
So vigorless our brawny arms, 

As to submit to chains. 

" Has the audacious Frank, forsooth, 
Subdued these seas and lands ? 

Shall he a bloodless victory have? 
No, not while w T e have hands. 

" He shall learn that the gallant Leo- 
nese 

Can bravely fight and fall, 30 

But that they know not how to yield; 

They are Castilians all. 

"Was it for this the Roman power 

Of old was made to yield 
Unto Numantia's valiant hosts 

On many a bloody field? 

" Shall the bold lions that have bathed 
Their paws in Libyan gore, 

Crouch basely to a feebler foe, 
And dare the strife no more? 40 



"Let the false king sell town and 
tower, 

But not his vassals free : 
For to subdue the free-born soul 

No royal power hath he ! " 

VIDA DE SAN MILLAN 

BY GONZALO DE BERCEO 

And when the kings were in the field. 

— their squadrons in array, — 
With lance in rest they onward pressed 

to mingle in the fray : 
But soon upon the Christians fell a 

terror of their foes, — 
These were a numerous army, — a 

little handful those. 

And while the Christian people stood 

in this uncertainty, 
Upward to heaven they turned their 

eyes, and fixed their thoughts 

on high ; 
And there two figures they beheld, all 

beautiful and bright. 
Even than the pure new-fallen snow 

their garments were more white. 

They rode upon two horses more white 
than crystal sheen, 

And arms they bore such as before no 
mortal man had seen ; 10 

The one, he held a crosier, — a pon- 
tiff's mitre wore ; 

The other held a crucifix, — such man 
ne'er saw before. 

Their faces were angelical, celestial 

forms had they, — 
And downward through the fields of 

air they urged their rapid way ; 
They looked upon the Moorish host. 

with fierce and angry look, 
And in their hands, with dire portent, 

their naked sabres shook. 

The Christian host, beholding this, 

straightway take heart again ; 
They fall upon their bended knees, 

all resting on the plain. 
And each one with his clenched fist to 

smite his breast begins. 
And promises to God on high he will 

forsake his sins. 20 



786 



TRANSLATIONS 



And when the heavenly knights drew 
near unto the battle-ground, 

They dashed among the Moors and 
dealt unerring blows around ; 

Such deadly havoc there they made 
the foremost ranks along, 

A panic terror spread unto the hind- 
most of the throng. 

Together with these two good knights, 

the champions of the sky, 
The Christians rallied and began to 

smite full sore and high ; 
The Moors raised up their voices and 

by the Koran swore 
That in their lives such deadly fray 

they ne'er had seen before. 

Down went the misbelievers, — fast 

sped the bloody fight, — 
Some ghastly and dismembered lay. 

and some half dead with fright : 
Full sorely they repented that to the 

field they came, 31 

For they saw that from the battle they 

should retreat with shame. 

Another thing befell them, — they 

dreamed not of such woes, — 
The very arrows that the Moors shot 

from their twanging bows 
Turned back against them in their 

flight and wounded them full 

sore, 
And every blow they dealt the foe was 

paid in drops of gore. 

Now he that bore the crosier, and the 

papal crown had on. 
Was the glorified Apostle, the brother 

of Saint John ; 
And he that held the crucifix, and ! 

wore the monkish hood, 
Was the holy San Millan of Cogolla's 

neighborhood. 

SAN MIGUEL, THE CONVENT 

(San Miguel de la Tumba) 

BY GONZALO DE BERCEO 

San Miguel de la Ttjmba is a con- 
vent vast and wide ; 

The sea encircles it around, and groans 
on every side : 



It is a wild and dangerous place, and 

many woes betide 
The monks who in that burial-place 

in penitence abide. 

Within those dark monastic walls, 
amid the ocean flood. 

Of pious, fasting monks there dwelt a 
holy brotherhood ; 

To the Madonna's glory there an altar 
high was placed, 

And a rich and costly image the sa- 
cred altar graced. 

Exalted high upon a throne, the Virgin 

Mother smiled, 
And, as the custom is, she held within 

her arms the Child ; 
The kings and wise men of the East 

were kneeling by her side ; 
Attended was she like*a queen whom 

God had sanctified. 

Descending low before her face a 

screen of feathers hung, — 
A moscader, or fan for flies, 't is called 

in vulgar tongue ; 
From the feathers of the peacock's 

wing 't was fashioned bright 

and fair, 
And glistened like the heaven above 

when all its stars are there. 

It chanced that, for the people's sins, 

fell the lightning's blasting 

stroke : 
Forth from all four the sacred walls 

the flames consuming broke ; 
The sacred robes were all consumed, 

missal and holy book ; 
And hardly with their lives the monks 

their crumbling walls forsook. 

But though the desolating flame raged 

fearfully and wild, 
It did not reach the Virgin Queen, it 

did not reach the Child ; 
It did not reach the feathery screen 

before her face that shone, 
Nor injure in a farthing's worth the 

image or the throne. 

The image it did not consume, it did 

not burn the screen ; 
Even in the value of a hair they were 

not hurt, I ween ; 



COME, O DEATH 



787 



Not even the smoke did reach them, 
nor injure more the shrine 

Than the bishop hight Don Tello has 
been' hurt by hand of mine. 



SONG 

She is a maid of artless grace, 
Gentle in form, and fair of face. 

Tell me, thou ancient mariner, 

That sailest on the sea, 
If ship, or sail, or evening star 

Be half so fair as she ! 

Tell me, thou gallant cavalier, 

Whose shining arms I see, 
If steel, or sword, or battle-field 

Be half so fair as she ! 

Tell me, thou swain, that guard'st thy 
flock 

Beneath the shadowy tree, 
If flock, or vale, or mountain-ridge 

Be half so fair as she ! 



SANTA TERESA'S BOOK-MARK 

(Letrilla que llevaba por Eegistro 
en su breviario) 

BY SANTA TERESA DE AVILA 

Let nothing disturb thee, 
Nothing affright thee ; 
All things are passing ; 
God never changeth ; 
Patient endurance 
Attaineth to all things ; 
Who God possesseth 
In nothing is wanting ; 
Alone God sufficeth. 



FEOM THE CANCIONEROS 



EYES SO TRISTFUL, EYES SO 
TRISTFUL 

(Ojos Tristes, Ojos Tristes) 

BY DIEGO DE SALDASA 

Eyes so tristful, eyes so tristful, 
Heart so full of care and cumber, 



I was lapped in rest and slumber, 

Ye have made me wakeful, wistful ! 

In this life of labor endless 

Who shall comfort my distresses ? 

Querulous my soul and friendless 

In its sorrow shuns caresses/ 

Ye have made me, ye have made me 

Querulous of you, that care not, 

Eyes so tristful, yet I dare. not 

Say to what ye have betrayed me. 



II 



SOME DAY, SOME DAY 
(Alguna Vez) 

BY CRISTOBAL DE GASTILLEJO- 

Some day, some day, 
O troubled breast, 
Shalt thou find rest. 
If Love in thee 
To grief give birth, 
Six feet of earth 
Can more than he ; 
There calm and free 
And unoppressed 
Shalt thou find rest. 

The unattained 
In life at last. 
When life is passed, 
Shall all be gained ; 
And no more pained, 
No more distressed, 
Shalt thou find rest. 



Ill 



COME, O DEATH, SO SILENT 
FLYING 

(Ven, Muerte tan escondida) 

by el commendador escriva 

Come, O Death, so silent flying 
That unheard thy coming be, 
Lest the sweet delight of dying 
Bring life back again to me. 
For thy sure approach perceiving, 
In my constancy and pain 
I new life should win again, 
Thinking that I am not living. 
So to me, unconscious lying, 



788 



TRANSLATIONS 



All unknown thy coming be, 

Lest the sweet delight of dying 

Bring life back again to me. 

Unto him who finds thee hateful, 

Death, thou art inhuman pain ; 

But to me, who dying gain, 

Life is but a task ungrateful. 

Come, then, with my wish complying, 

All unheard thy coming be, 

Lest the sweet delight of dying 

Bring life back again to me. 



IV 



GLOVE OF BLACK IN WHITE 
HAND BARE 

Glove of black in white hand bare, 
And about her forehead pale 
Wound a thin, transparent' veil, 
That doth not conceal her hair ; 
Sovereign attitude and air, 
Cheek and neck alike displayed, 
With coquettish charms arrayed, 
Laughing eyes and fugitive ; — 
This is killing men that live, 
T is not mourning for the dead. 



FROM THE SWEDISH AND 
DANISH 

PASSAGES FROM FRITHIOF'S 
SAGA 

BY ESAIAS TEGNER 



FRITHIOF'S HOMESTEAD 

Three miles extended around the 
fields of the homestead, on three 
sides 

Valleys and mountains and hills, but 
on the fourth side was the 
ocean. 

Birch woods crowned the summits, but 
down the slope of the hillsides 

Flourished the golden corn, and man- 
high was waving the rye-field. 

Lakes, full many in number, their 
mirror held up for the moun- 
tains, 

Held for the forests up, in whose 
depths the high-horned rein- 
deers 



Had their kingly walk, and drank of 
a hundred brooklets. 

But in the valleys widely around, 
there fed on the greensward 

Herds with shining hides and udders 
that longed for the milk-pail. 

'Mid these scattered, now here and 
now there, were numberless 
flocks of IO 

Sheep with fleeces white, as thou seest 
the white-looking stray clouds, 

Flock-wise spread o'er the heavenly 
vault, when it bloweth in spring- 
time. 

Coursers two times twelve, all mettle- 
some, fast fettered storm-winds, 

Stamping stood in the line of stalls, 
and tugged at their fodder. 

Knotted with red were their manes, 
and their hoofs all white with 
steel shoes. 

Th' banquet-hall, a house by itself, 
was timbered of hard fir. 

Not five hundred men (at ten times 
twelve to the hundred) 

Filled up the roomy hall, when as- 
sembled for drinking, at Yule- 
tide. 

Thorough the hall, as long as it was, 
went a table of holm-oak, 19 

Polished and white, as of steel ; the 
columns twain of the High-seat 

Stood at the end thereof, two gods 
carved out of an elm-tree ; 

Odin with lordly look, and Frey with 
the sun on his frontlet. 

Lately between the two, on a bear- 
skin (the skin it was coal-black, 

Scarlet-red was the throat, but the 
paws were shodden with silver), 

Thorsten sat with his friends, Hospi- 
tality sitting with Gladness. 

Oft, when the moon through the 
cloud-rack flew, related the old 
man 

Wonders from distant lands he had 
seen, and cruises of Vikings 

Far away on the Baltic, and Sea of 
the West, and the White Sea. 

Hushed sat the listening bench, and 
their glances hung on the gray- 
beard's 

Lips, as a bee on the rose ; but the 
Scald was thinking of Brage, 30 

Where, with his silver beard, and 
runes on his tongue, he is seated 



FRITHIOF'S TEMPTATION 



789 



Under the leafy beech, and tells a tra- 
dition by Mimer's 

Ever-murmuring wave, himself a liv- 
ing tradition. 

Midway the floor (with thatch was it 
strewn) burned ever the fire- 
flame 

Glad on its stone-built hearth; and 
thorough the wide-mouthed 
smoke flue 

Looked the stars, those heavenly 
" friends, down into the great 
hall. . 

Round the walls, upon nails of steel, 
were hanging in order 

Breastplate and helmet together, and 
here and there among them 

Downward lightened a sword, as in 
winter evening a star shoots. 

More than helmets and swords the 
shields in the hall were resplen- 
dent, 40 

White as the orb of the sun, or white 
as the moon's disk of silver. 

Ever and anon went a maid round the 
board, and filled up the drink - 
. horns, 

Ever she cast down her eyes and 
blushed ; in the shield her re- 
flection 

Blushed, too, even as she ; this glad- 
dened the drinking champions. 



II 



A SLEDGE-RIDE ON THE ICE 

King Ring with his queen to the ban- 
quet did fare. 

On the lake stood the ice so mirror- 
clear. 

"Fare not o'er the ice," the stranger 

cries ; 
" It will burst, and full deep the cold 

bath lies." 

"The king drowns not easily," Ring 

outspake ; 
" He who 's afraid may go round the 

lake." 

Threatening and dark looked the 

stranger round, 
His steel shoes with haste on his feet 

he bound. 



The sledge-horse starts forth strong 

and free ; 
He snorteth flames, so glad is he. 

"Strike out," screamed the king, "my 

trotter good, 
Let us see if thou art of Sleipner's 

blood." 

They go as a storm goes over the lake. 
No heed to his queen doth the old 
man take. 

But the steel-shod champion standeth 

not still, 
He passeth them by as swift as he 

will. 

He carves many runes in the frozen 

tide, 
Fair Ingeborg o'er her own name doth 

glide. 

Ill 
FRITHIOF'S TEMPTATION 

Spring is coming, birds are twitter- 
ing, forests leaf, and smiles the 
sun, 

And the loosened torrents downward, 
singing, to the ocean run ; 

Glowing like the cheek of Freya, peep- 
ing rosebuds 'gin to ope, 

And in human hearts awaken love of 
life, and joy, and hope. 

Now will hunt the ancient monarch, 

and the queen shall join the 

sport : 
Swarming in its gorgeous splendor, is 

assembled all the court ; 
Bows ring loud, and quivers rattle, 

stallions paw the ground alway. 
And, with hoods upon their eyelids, 

scream the falcons for their 

prey. 

See, the Queen of the chase advances ! 

Frithiof , gaze not at the sight ! 
Like a star upon a spring-cloud sits 

she on her palfrey white. 10 

Half of Freya, half of Rota, yet more 

beauteous than these two, 
And from her light hat of purple 

wave aloft the feathers blue. 



79o 



TRANSLATIONS 



Gaze not at her eyes' blue heaven, 
gaze not at her golden hair ! 

Oh beware ! her waist is slender, full 
her bosom is, beware! 

Look not at the rose and lily on her 
cheek that shifting play, 

List not to the voice beloved, whisper- 
ing like the wind of May. 

Now the huntsman's band is ready. 
Hurrah ! over hill and dale ! 

Horns ring, and the hawks right up- 
ward to the hall of Odin sail. 

All the dwellers in the forest seek in 
fear their cavern homes, 

But, with spear outstretched before 
her, after them the Valkyr 
comes. 20 

Then threw Frithiof down his mantle. 

and upon the greensward 

spread, 
And the ancient king so trustful laid 

on Frithiof's knee his head, 
Slept as calmly as the hero sleepeth, 

after war's alarm, 
On his shield, or as an infant sleeps 

upon its mother's arm. 

As he slumbers, hark! there sings a 

coal-black bird upon the bough ; 
"Hasten, Frithiof, slay the old man, 

end your quarrel at a blow : 
Take his queen, for she is thine, and 

once the bridal kiss she gave, 
Now no human eye beholds thee, deep 

and silent is the grave." 

Frithiof listens ; hark ! there sings 

a snow-white bird upon the 

bough : 
" Though no human eye beholds thee, 

Odin's eye beholds thee now. 30 
Coward ! wilt thou murder sleep, and 

a defenceless old man slay ! 
Whatsoe'er thou winn'st, thou canst 

not win a hero's fame this 

way." 

Thus the two wood-birds did warble : 

Frithiof took his war-sword 

good, 
With a shudder hurled it from him, 

far into the gloomy wood. 
Coal-black bird flies down to Nastrand, 

but on light, unfolded wings, 



Like the tone of harps, the other, 
sounding towards the sun, up- 
springs. 

Straight the ancient king awakens. 

"Sweet has been my sleep," 

he said ; 
"Pleasantly sleeps one in the shadow, 

guarded by a brave man's blade. 
But where is thy sword, O stranger ? 

Lightning's brother, where is 

he? 
Who thus parts you, who should never 

from each other parted be ! " 40 

"It avails not," Frithiof answered; 
' • in the North are other swords : 

Sharp, O monarch ! is the sword's 
tongue, and it speaks not peace- 
ful words ; 

Murky spirits dwell in steel blades, 
spirits from the Niffelhem ; 

Slumber is not safe before them, silver 
locks but anger them." 



IV 

FRITHIOF'S FAREWELL 

No more shall I see 

In its upward motion 

The smoke of the Northland. Man is 

a slave: 
The fates decree. 
On the waste of the ocean 
There is my fatherland, there is my 

grave. 

Go not to the strand, 

Ring, with thy bride, 

After the stars spread their light 

through the sky. 
Perhaps in the sand, 
Washed up by the tide, 
The bones of the outlawed Viking 

may lie. 

Then, quoth the king, 

" 'T is mournful to hear 

A man like a whimpering maiden 

cry. 
The death-song they sing 
Even now in mine ear. 
What avails it ? He who is born must 

die." 



THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER 



791 




May, with her cap crowned with roses 



THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S 
SUPPER 

BY ESAIAS TEGNER 

Pentecost, day of rejoicing, had 
coine. The church of the vil- 
lage 

Gleaming stood in the morning's sheen. 
On the spire of the belfry, 

Decked with a brazen cock, the 
friendly flames of the Spring- 
sun 

Glanced like the tongues of fire, be- 
held by Apostles aforetime. 

Clear was the heaven and blue, and 
May, with her cap crowned 
with roses. 

Stood in her holiday dress in the fields, 
and the wind and the brooklet 

Murmured gladness and peace, God's- 
peace ! with lips rosy-tinted 

Whispered the race of the flowers, and 
merry on balancing branches 

Birds were singing their carol, a jubi- 
lant hymn to the Highest. 

Swept and clean was the churchyard. 
Adorned like a leaf-woven 
arbor 10 



Stood its old-fashioned gate ; and 

within upon each cross of iron 
Hung was a fragrant garland, new 

twined by the hands of affection. 
Even the dial, that stood on a mound 

among the departed, 
(There full a hundred years had it 

stood,) was embellished with 

blossoms. 
Like to the patriarch hoary, the sage 

of his kith and the hamlet, 
Who on his birthday is crowned by 

children and children's children, 
So stood the ancient prophet, and 

mute with his pencil of iron 
Marked on the tablet of stone, and 

measured the time and its 

changes, 
While all around at his feet, an eter- 
nity slumbered in quiet. 
Also the church within was adorned, 

for this was the season 20 

When the young, their parents' hope, 

and the loved-ones of heaven, 
Should at the foot of the altar renew 

the vows of their baptism. 
Therefore each nook and corner was 

swept and cleaned, and the 

dust was 



792 



TRANSLATIONS 



Blown from the walls and ceiling, and 
from the oil-painted benches. 

There stood the church like a garden ; 
the Feast of the Leafy Pavilions 

Saw we in living presentment. From 
noble arms on the church wall 

Grew forth a cluster of leaves, and the 
preacher's pulpit of oak-wood 

Budded once more anew, as aforetime 
the rod before Aaron. 

Wreathed thereon was the Bible with 
leaves, and the dove, washed 
with silver, 

Under its canopy fastened, had on it 
a necklace of wind-flowers. 30 

But in front of the choir, round the 
altar-piece painted by Horberg, 

Crept a garland gigantic ; and bright- 
curling tresses of angels 

Peeped, like the sun from a cloud, 
from out of the shadowy leaf- 
work. 

Likewise the lustre of brass, new- 
polished, blinked from the ceil- 
ing, 

And for lights there were lilies of Pen- 
tecost set in the sockets. 

Loud rang the bells already ; the 

thronging crowd was assembled 
Far from valleys and hills, to list to 

the holy preaching. 
Hark ! then roll forth at once the 

mighty tones of the organ, 
Hover like voices from God, aloft like 

invisible spirits. 
Like as Elias in heaven, when he cast 

from off him his mantle, 40 

So cast off the soul its garments of 

earth ; and with one voice 
Chimed in the congregation, and sang 

an anthem immortal 
Of the sublime Wallin, of David's 

harp in the North -land 
Tuned to the choral of Luther; the 

song on its mighty pinions 
Took every living soul, and lifted it 

gently to heaven, 
And each face did shine like the Holy 

One's face upon Tabor. 
Lo ! there entered then into the church 

the Reverend Teacher. 
Father he hight and he was in the par- 
ish ; a Christianly plainness 
Clothed from his head to his feet the 

old man of seventy winters. 



Friendly was he to behold, and glad 
as the heralding angel 50 

Walked he among the crowds, but 
still a contemplative grandeur 

Lay on his forehead as clear as on 
moss-covered gravestone a sun- 
beam. 

As in his inspiration (an evening twi- 
light that faintly 

Gleams in the human soul, even now, 
from the day of creation) 

Th' Artist, the friend of heaven, 
imagines Saint John when in 
Patmos, 

Gray, with his eyes uplifted to heaven, 
so seemed then the old man : 

Such was the glance of his eye, and 
such were his tresses of silver. 

All the congregation arose in the pews 
that were numbered, 

But with a cordial look, to the right 
and the left hand, the old man, 

Nodding all hail and peace, disap- 
peared in the innermost chan- 
cel. 60 

Simply and solemnly now proceeded 

the Christian service, 
Singing and prater, and at last an 

ardent discourse from the old 

man. 
Many a moving word and warning, 

that out of the heart came, 
Fell like the dew of the morning, like 

manna on those in the desert. 
Then, when all was finished, the 

Teacher reentered the chancel, 
Followed therein by the young. The 

boys on the right had their 

places, 
Delicate figures, with close-curling 

hair and cheeks rosy -blooming. 
But on the left of these there stood the 

tremulous lilies, 
Tinged with the blushing light of the 

dawn, the diffident maidens, — 
Folding their hands in prayer, and 

their eyes cast down on the 

pavement. 70 

Now came, with question and answer, 

the catechism. In the beginning 
Answered the children with troubled 

and faltering voice, but the old 

man's 
Glances of kindness encouraged them 

soon, and the doctrines eternal 



THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER 793 



Flowed, like the waters of fountains, 

so clear from lips unpolluted. 
Each time the answer was closed, and 

as oft as they named the Re- 
deemer, 
Lowly louted the boys, and lowly the 

maidens all courtesied. 
Friendly the Teacher stood, like an 

angel of light there among 

them, 
And to the children explained the 

holy, the highest, in few words, 
Thorough, yet simple and clear, for 

sublimity always is simple, 
Both in sermon and song, a child can 

seize on its meaning. 80 

E'en as the green -growing bud unfolds 

when Springtide approaches, 
Leaf by leaf puts forth, and, warmed 

by the radiant sunshine, 
Blushes with purple and gold, till at 

last the perfected blossom 
Opens its odorous chalice, and rocks 

with its crown in the breezes, 
So was unfolded here the Christian 

lore of salvation, 
Line by line from the soul of child- 
hood. The fathers and mothers 
Stood behind them in tears, and were 

glad at the well-worded answer. 

Now went the old man up to the 
altar ; — and straightway trans- 
figured 

(So did it seem unto me) was then the 
affectionate Teacher. 

Like the Lord's Prophet sublime, and 
awful as Death and as Judg- 
ment 90 

Stood he, the God-commissioned, the 
soul - searcher, earthward de- 
scending. 

Glances, sharp as a sword, into hearts 
that to him were transparent 

Shot he ; his voice was deep, was low- 
like the thunder afar off. 

So on a sudden transfigured he stood 
there, he spake and he ques- 
tioned. 

" This is the faith of the Fathers, the 
faith the Apostles delivered, 

This is moreover the faith whereunto 
I baptized you, while still ye 

Lay on your mothers' breasts, and 
nearer the portals of heaven. 



Slumbering received you then the Holy 
Church in its bosom ; 

Wakened from sleep are ye now, and 
the light in its radiant splendor 

Dowmward rains from the heaven ; — 
to-day on the threshold of child- 
hood 100 

Kindly she frees you again, to ex- 
amine and make your election, 

For she knows naught of compulsion, 
and only conviction desireth. 

This is the hour of your trial, the turn 
ing- point of existence, 

Seed for the coming days ; without re- 
vocation departeth 

Now from your lips the confession. 
Bethink ye, before ye make an- 
swer ! 

Think not, oh think not with guile to 
deceive the questioningTeacher. 

Sharp is his eye to-day, and a curse 
ever rests upon falsehood. 

Enter not with a lie on Life's journey ; 
the multitude hears you, 

Brothers and sisters and parents, what 
dear upon earth is and hoJy 

Standeth before your sight as a wit- 
ness ; the Judge everlasting no 

Looks from the sun down upon you, 
and angels in waiting beside 
him 

Grave your confession in letters of fire 
upon tablets eternal. 

Thus, then, — believe ye in God, in the 
Father who this world created? 

Him who redeemed it, the Son, and the 
Spirit where both are united? 

Will ye promise me here, (a holy pro< 
mise!) to cherish 

God more than all things earthly, and 
every man as a brother? 

Will ye promise me here, to confirm 
your faith by your living, 

Th' heavenly faith of affection ! to 
hope, to forgive, and to suffer, 

Be what it may your condition, and 
walk before God in upright- 
ness? 

Will ye promise me this before God 
and men?" — With a clear 
voice 120 

Answered the young men Yes! and 
Yes ! with lips softly-breathing 

Answered the maidens eke. Then dis- 
solved from the brow of the 
Teacher 



794 



TRANSLATIONS 



Clouds with the lightnings therein, and 
he spake in accents more gentle, 

Soft as the evening's breath, as harps 
by Babylon's rivers. 

"Hail, then, hail to you all! To 
the heirdom of heaven be ye 
welcome ! 

Children no more from this day, but 
by covenant brothers and sisters ! 

Yet, — for what reason not children? 
Of such is the kingdom of hea- 
ven. 



Resteth the Christian Faith ; she her- 
self from on high is descended. 

Strong as a man and pure as a child, 
is the sum of the doctrine, 

Which the Divine One taught, and suf 
f ered and died on the cross for. 

Oh, as ye wander this day from child- 
hood's sacred asylum 

Downward, and ever downward, and 
deeper in Age's chill valley, 

Oh, how soon will ye come, — too 
soon ! — and long to turn back- 
ward 




Stood he. the God-commissioned ' 



Here upon earth an assemblage of 

children, in heaven one Father, 
Ruling them all as his household, — 

forgiving in turn and chastising, 
That is of human life a picture, as 

Scripture has taught us. 130 
Blest are the pure before God ! Upon 

purity and upon virtue 



Up to its hill-tops again, to the sun- 
illumined, where Judgment 

Stood like a father before you, and 
Pardon, clad like a mother. 

Gave you her hand to kiss, and the 
loving heart was forgiven, 140 

Life was a play and your hands grasped 
after the roses of heaven ! 



THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER 



795 



Seventy years have I lived already ; 

the Father eternal 
Gave me gladness and care ; but the 

loveliest hours of existence, 
When I have steadfastly gazed in their 

eyes, 1 have instantly known 

them, 
Known them all again ; — they were 

my childhood's acquaintance. 
Therefore take from henceforth, as 

guides in the paths of existence, 
Prayer, with her eyes raised to heaven, 

and Innocence, bride of man's 

childhood. 
Innocence, child beloved, is a guest 

from the world of the blessed, 
Beautiful, and in her hand a lily ; on 

life's roaring billows 149 

Swings she in safety, she heedeth them 

not, in the ship she is sleeping. 
Calmly she gazes around in the tur- 
moil of men ; in the desert 
Angels descend and minister unto her 

she herself knoweth 
Naught of her glorious attendance 

but follows faithful and humble 
Follows so long as she may her friend 

oh do not reject her, 
For she cometh from God and she 

holdeth the keys of the heavens. 
Prayer is Innocence' friend ; and will- 
ingly flieth incessant 
'Twixt the earth and the sky, the 

carrier-pigeon of heaven. 
Son of Eternity, fettered in Time, and 

an exile, the Spirit 
Tugs at his chains evermore, and 

struggles like flame ever up- 
ward. 
Still he recalls with emotion his Father's 

manifold mansions, 160 

Thinks of the land of his fathers, 

where blossomed more freshly 

the flowerets, 
Shone a more beautiful sun, and he 

played with the winged angels. 
Then grows the earth too narrow, too 

close ; and homesick for heaven 
Longs the wanderer again; and the 

Spirit's longings are worship; 
Worship is called his most beautiful 

hour, and its tongue is entreaty. 
Ah! when the infinite burden of life 

descendeth upon us, 
Crushes to earth our hope, and, under 

the earth, in the graveyard, 



Then it is good to pray unto God ; for 
his sorrowing children 

Turns He ne'er from his door, but He 
heals and helps and consoles 
them. 

Yet is it better to pray when all things 
are prosperous with us, 170 

Pray in fortunate days, for life's most 
beautiful Fortune 

Kneels before the Eternal's throne; 
and with hands interfolded, 

Praises thankful and moved the only 
giver of blessings. 

Or do ye know, ye children, one bless- 
ing that comes not from Hea- 
ven? 

What has mankind forsooth, the poor! 
that it has not received ? 

Therefore, fall in the dust and pray! 
The seraphs adoring 

Cover with pinions six their face in 
the glory of Him who 

Hung his masonry pendent on naught, 
when the world He created. 

Earth declareth his might, and the 
firmament utters his glory. 

Races blossom and die, and stars fall 
downward from heaven, 180 

Downward like withered leaves; at 
the last stroke of midnight, mil- 
lenniums 

Lay themselves down at his feet, and 
He sees them, but counts them 
as nothing. 

Who shall stand in his presence ? The 
wrath of the Judge is terrific, 

Casting the insolent down at a glance. 
When He speaks in his anger 

Hillocks skip like the kid, and moun- 
tains leap like the roebuck. 

Yet, — why are ye afraid, ye children? 
This awful avenger, 

Ah! is a merciful God! God's voice 
was not in the earthquake, 

Not in the fire, nor the storm, but it 
was in the whispering breezes. 

Love is the root of creation; God's 
essence ; worlds without num- 
ber 

Lie in his bosom like children ; He 
made them for this purpose 
only. 190 

Only to love and to be loved again, 
He breathed forth his spirit 

Into the slumbering dust, and upright 
standing, it laid its 



796 



TRANSLATIONS 



Hand on its heart, and felt it was warm 

with a flame out of heaven. 
Quench, oh quench not that flame! 

It is the breath of your being. 
Love is life, but hatred is death. Not 

father nor mother 
Loved you, as God has loved you ; for 

't was that you may be happy 
Gave He his only Son. When He 

bowed down his head in the 

death -hour 
Solemnized Love its triumph; the sac- 

. rifice then was completed. 
Lo! then was rent on a sudden the 

veil of the temple, dividing 
Earth and heaven apart, and the dead 

from their sepulchres rising 200 
Whispered with pallid lips and low in 

the ears of each other 
Th' answer, but dreamed of before, 

to creation's enigma, — Atone- 
ment ! 
Depths of Love are Atonement's 

depths, for Love is Atonement. 
Therefore, child of mortality, love 

thou the merciful Father ; 
Wish what the Holy One wishes, and 

not from fear, but affection ; 
Fear is the virtue of slaves ; but the 

heart that loveth is willing ; 
Perfect was before God, and perfect 

is Love, and Love only. 
Lovest thou God as thou oughtest, 

then lovest thou likewise thy 

brethren ; 
One is the sun in heaven, and one, 

only one, is Love also. 
Bears not each human figure the god- 
like stamp on his forehead ? 210 
Readest thou not in his face thine ori- 
gin ? Is he not sailing 
Lost like thyself on an ocean unknown, 

and is he not guided 
By the same stars that guide thee ? 

Why shouldst thou hate then 

thy brother ? 
Hateth he thee, forgive ! For 't is 

sweet to stammer one letter 
Of the Eternal's language ; — on earth 

it is called Forgiveness ! 
Knowest thou Him who forgave, with 

the crown of thorns on his tem- 
ples, 
Earnestly prayed for his foes, for his 

murderers? Say, dost thou 

know Him ? 



Ah ! thou confessest his name, so fol- 
low likewise his example, 

Think of thy brother no ill, but throw 
a veil over his failings, 

Guide the erring aright ; for the good, 
the heavenly shepherd 220 

Took the lost lamb in his arms, and 
bore it back to its mother. 

This is the fruit of Love, and it is by 
its fruits that we know it. 

Love is the creature's welfare, with 
God ; but Love among mortals 

Is but an endless sigh ! He longs, and 
endures, and stands waiting, 

Suffers and yet rejoices, and smiles 
with tears on his eyelids. 

Hope, — so is called upon earth his 
recompense, — Hope, the be- 
friending, 

Does what she can, for she points 
evermore up to heaven, and 
faithful 

Plunges her anchor's peak in the 
depths of the grave, and be- 
neath it 

Paints a more beautiful world, a dim, 
but a sweet play of shadows ! 

Races, better than we, have leaned on 
her wavering promise, 230 

Having naught else but Hope. Then 
praise we our Father in heaven, 

Him, who has given us more ; for to 
us has Hope been transfigured, 

Groping no longer in night ; she is 
Faith, she is living assurance. 

Faith is enlightened Hope ; she is 
light, is the eye of affection, 

Dreams of the longing interprets, and 
carves their visions in marble. 

Faith is the sun of life ; and her coun - 
tenance shines like the He- 
brew's, 

For she has looked upon God ; the 
heaven on its stable founda- 
tion 

Draws she with chains down to earth, 
and the New Jerusalem sinketh 

Splendid with portals twelve in gol- 
den vapors descending. 

There enraptured she wanders, and 
looks at the figures majestic, 240 

Fears not the winged crowd, in the 
midst of them all is her home- 
stead. 

Therefore love and believe ; for works 
will* follow spontaneous 



THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER 797 



Even as day does the sun ; the Right 

from the Good is an offspring, 
Love in a bodily shape ; and Christian 

works are no more than 
Animate Love and Faith, as flowers 

are the animate Springtide. 
Works do follow us all unto God; 

there stand and bear witness 
Not what they seemed, — but what 

they were only. Blessed is he 

who 
Hears their confession secure ; they 

are mute upon earth until 

death's hand 
Opens the mouth of the silent. Ye 

children, does Death e'er alarm 

you ? 
Death is the brother of Love, twin- 
brother is he, and is only 250 
More austere to behold. With a kiss 

upon lips that are fading 
Takes he the soul and departs, and, 

rocked in the arms of affection, 
Places the ransomed child, new born, 

'fore the face of its father. 
Sounds of his coming already I hear, 

— see dimly his pinions, 
Swart as the night, but with stars 

strewn upon them ! I fear not 

before him. 



Death is only release, and in mercy is 
mute. On his bosom 

Freer breathes, in its coolness, my 
breast ; and face to face stand- 
ing 

Look I on God as He is, a sun unpol- 
luted by vapors ; 

Look on the light of the ages I loved, 
the spirits majestic, 

Nobler, better than I ; they stand by 
the throne all transfigured, 260 

Vested in white, and with harps of 
gold, and are singing an an- 
them, 

Writ in the climate of heaven, in the 
language spoken by angels. 

You, in like manner, ye children be- 
loved, He one day shall gather, 

Never forgets He the weary ; — then 
welcome, ye loved ones here- 
after ! 

Meanwhile forget not the keeping of 
vows, forget not the promise, 

Wander from holiness onward to ho- 
liness ; earth shall ye heed 
not ; 

Earth is but dust and heaven is light ; 
I have pledged you to heaven. 

God of the universe, hear me ! thou 
fountain of Love everlasting, 




The heavenly shepherd" 



79 8 



TRANSLATIONS 




" Faith is the sun of life 



Hark to the voice of thy servant! I 
send up my prayer to thy hea- 
ven! 

Let me hereafter not miss at thy throne 
one spirit of all these, 270 

Whom thou hast given me here ! I 
have loved them all like a father. 

May they bear witness for me, that 1 
taught them the way of salva- 
tion, 

Faithful, so far as I knew, of thy 
word ; again may they know me, 

Fall on their Teacher's breast, and be- 
fore thy face may I place them. 

Pure as they now are, but only more 
tried, and exclaiming with glad- 
ness, 

Father, lo ! I am here, and the children, 
whom thou hast given me ! " 

Weeping he spake in these words ; 
and now at the beck of the old 



Knee 



against knee they knitted a 
wreath round the altar's enclos- 



Kneeling he read then the prayers of 
the consecration, and softly 279 

With him the children read; at the 
close, with tremulous accents, 

Asked he the peace of heaven, a bene- 
diction upon them. 

Now should have ended his task for 
the day; the following Sun- 
day 

Was for the young appointed to eat of 
the Lord's holy Supper. 

Sudden, as struck from the clouds, 
stood the Teacher silent and 
laid his 

Hand on his forehead, and cast his 
looks upward ; while thoughts 
high and holy 

Flew through the midst of his soul, 
and his eyes glanced with won- 
derful brightness. 



THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER 



799 



"On the next Sunday, who knows! 
perhaps I shall rest in the grave- 
yard ! 

Some one perhaps of yourselves, a lily 
broken untimely, 

Bow down his head to the earth ; why 
delay I ? the hour is accom- 
plished. 

Warm is the heart; — I will! for to- 
day grows the harvest of hea- 
ven. 290 

What I began accomplish I now ; what 
failing therein is 

I, the old man, will answer to God and 
the reverend father. 

Say to me only, ye children, ye deni- 
zens new-come in heaven, 

Are ye ready this day to eat of the 
bread of Atonement ? 

What it denote th, that know ye full 
well, I have told it vou often. 



Of the new covenant symbol it is, of 
Atonement a token, 

Stablished between earth and heaven. 
Man by his sins and transgres- 
sions 

Far has wandered from God, from his 
essence. 'T was in the begin- 
ning 

Fast by the Tree of Knowledge he fell, 
and it hangs its crown o'er the 

Fall to this day ; in the Thought is the 
Fall; in the Heart the Atone- 
ment. 300 

Infinite is the fall, — the Atonement 
infinite likewise. 

See ! behind me, as far as the old man 
remembers, and forward, 

Far as Hope in her flight can reach 
with her wearied pinions, 

Sin and Atonement incessant go 
through the lifetime of mortals, 




Asked lie the peace of heaven, a benediction upon them ' 



Soo 



TRANSLATIONS 



Sin is brought forth full-grown ; but 
Atonement sleeps in our bo- 
soms 

Still as the cradled babe ; and dreams 
of heaven and of angels, 

Cannot awake to sensation ; is like the 
tones in the harp's strings, 

Spirits imprisoned, that wait evermore 
the deliverer's finger. 

Therefore, ye children beloved, de- 
scended the Prince of Atone- 
ment, 

Woke the slumberer from sleep, and 
she stands now with eyes all 
resplendent, 310 

Bright as the vault of the sky, and 
battles with Sin and o'ercomes 
her. 

Downward to earth He came and, 
transfigured, thence reascended, 

Not from the heart in like wise, for 
there He still lives in the 
Spirit, 

Loves and atones evermore. So long 
as Time is, is Atonement. 

Therefore with reverence take this, 
day her visible token. 

Tokens are dead if the things live not. 
The light everlasting 

Unto the blind is not, but is born of 
the eye that has vision. 

Neither in bread nor in wine, but in 
the heart that is hallowed 

Lieth forgiveness enshrined ; the in- 
tention alone of amendment 

Fruits of the earth ennobles to hea- 
venly things, and removes all 320 

Sin and the guerdon of sin. Only 
Love with his arms wide ex- 
tended, 

Penitence weeping and praying ; the 
Will that is tried, and whose 
gold flows 

Purified forth from the flames; in a 
word, mankind by Atonement 

Breaketh Atonement's bread, and 
drinketh Atonement's wine-cup. 

But he who cometh up hither, un- 
worthy, with hate in his bo- 
som, 

Scoffing at men and at God, is guilty 
of Christ's blessed body, 

And the Redeemer's blood ! To him- 
self he eateth and drinketh 

Death and doom ! And from this, pre- 
serve us, thou heavenly Father! 



Are ye ready, ye children, to eat of 
the bread of Atonement ? " 329 

Thus with emotion he asked, and to- 
gether answered the children, 

"Yes!" with deep sobs interrupted. 
Then read he the due supplica- 
tions, 

Read the Form of Communion, and in 
chimed the organ and anthem : 

"O Holy Lamb of God, who takest 
aw T ay our transgressions, 

Hear us! give us thy peace! have 
mercy, have mercy upon us ! " 

Th' old man, with trembling hand, 
and heavenly pearls on his eye- 
lids, 

Filled now the chalice and paten, and 
dealt round the mystical sym- 
bols. 

Oh, then seemed it to me as if God, 
with the broad eye of mid- 
day, 

Clearer looked in at the windows, and 
all the trees in the churchyard 

Bowed down their summits of green, 
and the grass on the graves 'gan 
to shiver. 

But in the children (I noted it well ; I 
knew it) there ran a 340 

Tremor of holy rapture along through 
their ice-cold members. 

Decked like an altar before them, 
there stood the green earth, and 
above it 

Heaven opened itself, as of old before 
Stephen ; they saw there 

Radiant in glory the Father, and on 
his right hand the Redeemer. 

Under them hear they the clang of 
harp-strings, and angels from 
gold clouds 

Beckon to them like brothers, and fan 
with their pinions of purple. 

Closed was the Teacher's task, and 
with heaven in their hearts and 
their faces, 

Up rose the children all, and each 
bowed him, weeping full sorely, 

Downward to kiss that reverend hand, 
but all of them pressed he 

Moved to his bosom, and laid, with a 
prayer, his hands full of bless- 
ings, 350 

Now on the holy breast, and now on 
the innocent tresses. 



KING CHRISTIAN 



Soi 



KING CHRISTIAN 


"Now is the hour!" 




"Fly!" shouted they, "for shelter 


A NATIONAL SONG OF DENMARK 


fly! 




Of Denmark's Juel who can defy 


King Christian stood by the lofty 


The power ? " 


mast 




In mist and smoke ; 


North Sea ! a glimpse of Wessel rent 


His sword was hammering so fast, 


Thy murky sky ! 


Through Gothic helm and brain it 


Then champions to thine arms were 


passed; 


sent ; 


Then sank each hostile hulk and mast, 


Terror and Death glared where he 


.In mist and smoke. 


went; 




King Christian 



" Fly !" shouted they, "fly, he whocan! 
Who braves of Denmark's Christian 
The stroke ? " 

Nils Juel gave heed to the tempest's 
roar, 
Now is the hour ! 

He hoisted his blood-red flag once 
more, 

And smote upon the foe full sore, 

And shouted loud, through the tem- 
pest's roar, 



From the waves was heard a wail 
that rent 

Thy murky sky ! 
From Denmark thunders Tordenskiol', 
Let each to Heaven commend his soul, 

And fly! 

Path of the Dane to fame and might ! 

Dark-rolling wave ! 
Receive thy friend, who, scorning 

flight, 
Goes to meet danger with despite, 



802 



TRANSLATIONS 




" A Knight full well equipped " 



Proudly as thou the tempest's might, 

Dark-rolling wave ! 
And amid pleasures and alarms, 
And war and victory, be thine arms 

My grave ! 



THE ELECTED KNIGHT 

Sir Oluf he rideth over the plain, 
Full seven miles broad and seven 
miles wide, 
But never, ah never can meet with 
the man 
A tilt with him dare ride. 



He saw under the hillside 

A Knight full well equipped ; 

His steed was black, his helm was 
barred ; 
He was riding at full speed. 

He wore upon his spurs 

Twelve little golden birds ; ic 

Anon he spurred his steed with a 
clang, 
And there sat all the birds and 
sang. 

He wore upon his mail 
Twelve little golden wheels ; 



THE ELECTED KNIGHT 



803 



Anon in eddies the wild wind blew, 


Sweetly, as I recall it, tears do fall, 


And round and round the wheels 


And therefore I recall it with de- 


they flew. 


light. 


He wore before his breast 


I sported in my tender mother's arms, 


A lance that was poised in rest ; 


And rode a-horseback on best fa- 


And it was sharper than diamond- 


ther's knee ; 


stone, 


Alike were sorrows, passions and 


It made Sir Oluf's heart to groan. 2c 


alarms, 




And gold, and Greek, and love, un- 


He wore upon his helm 


known to me. 


A wreath of ruddy gold ; 




And that gave him the Maidens Three, 


Then seemed to me this world far less 


The youngest was fair to behold. 


in size, 




Likewise it seemed to me less 


Sir Oluf questioned the Knight eftsoon 


wicked far ; 


If he were come from heaven down ; 


Like points in heaven, I saw the stars 


"Art thou Christ of Heaven,'' quoth 


arise, 


he, 


And longed for wings that I might 


" So will I yield me unto thee." 


catch a star. 


"lam not Christ the Great, 


I saw the moon behind the island 


Thou shalt not yield thee yet ; 30 


fade, 


I am an Unknown Knight, 


And thought, " Oh, were I on that 


Three modest Maidens have me be- 


island there, 


dight." 


I could find out of what the moon is 




made, 


"Art thou a Knight elected, 


Find out how large it is, how round, 


And have three maidens thee be- 
dight ; 
So shalt thou ride a tilt this day, 


how fair!" 


Wondering, I saw God's sun, through 


For all the Maidens' honor ! " 


western skies, 




Sink in the ocean's golden lap at 


The first tilt they together rode 


night, 


They put their steeds to the test ; 


And yet upon the morrow early 


The second tilt they together rode 


rise, 


They proved their manhood best. 40 


And paint the eastern heaven with 




crimson light ; 


The third tilt they together rode 




Xeither of them would yield ; 


And thought of God, the gracious 


The fourth tilt they together rode 


Heavenly Father, 


They both fell on the field. 


Who made me, and that lovely sun 




on high, 


Xow. lie the lords upon the plain, 


And all those pearls of heaven thick- 


And their blood runs unto death ; 


strung together, 


Now sit the Maidens in the high tower, 


Dropped, clustering, from his hand 


The youngest sorrows till death. 


o'er all the sky. 


CHILDHOOD 


With childish reverence, my young 
lips did say 


BY JENS EMMANUEL BAGGESEN 


The prayer my pious mother taught 




to me : 


There was a time when I was very 


" gentle God ! oh, let me strive al- 


small, 


way 


When my whole frame was but an 


Still to be wise, and good, and fol- 


ell in height ; 


low thee ! " 



8o4 



TRANSLATIONS 



So prayed I for my father and my 
mother, 
And for my sister, and for all the 
town; 
The king I knew not, and the beggar- 
brother, 
Who, bent with age, went, sighing, 
up and down. 

They perished, the blithe days of boy- 
hood perished, 
And all the gladness, all the peace I 
knew ! 
Now have I but their memory, fondly 
cherished; — 
God ! may I never lose that too I 



FROM THE GERMAN 
THE HAPPIEST LAND 

There sat one day in quiet, 
By an alehouse on the Rhine, 

Four hale and hearty fellows, 
And drank the precious wine. 

The landlord's daughter filled their 
cups, 

Around the rustic board ; 
Then sat they all so calm and still, 

And spake not one rude word. 

But when the maid departed, 
A Swabian raised his hand, 

And cried, all hot and flushed with 
wine, 
" Long live the Swabian land! 

' ' The greatest kingdom upon earth 
Cannot with that compare ; 

With all the stout and hardy men 
And the nut-brown maidens there." 

"Ha ! " cried a Saxon, laughing, 
And dashed his beard with wine ; 

" I had rather live in Lapland, 
Than that Swabian land of thine ! 

" The goodliest land on all this earth, 

It is the Saxon land ! 
There have I as many maidens 

As fingers on this hand ! " 

" Hold your tongues! both Swabian 
and Saxon ! " 
A bold Bohemian cries ; 



"If there 's a heaven upon this earth, 
In Bohemia it lies. 

V There the tailor blows the flute, 
And the cobbler blows the horn, 

And the miner blows the bugle, 
Over mountain gorge and bourn. " 

And then the landlord's daughter 
Up to heaven raised her hand, 

And said, "Ye may no more con- 
tend, — 
There lies the happiest land ! " 

THE WAVE 

BY CHRISTOPH AUGUST TIEDGE 

"Whither, thou turbid wave? 
Whither, with so much haste, 
As if a thief wert thou? " 

"lam the Wave of Life, 
Stained with my margin's dust ; 
From the struggle and the strife 
Of the narrow stream I fly 
To the Sea's immensity, 
To wash from me the slime 
Of the muddy banks of Time." 

THE DEAD 

BY ERNST STOCKMANN 

How they so softly rest, 
All they the holy ones, 
Unto whose dwelling-place 
Now doth my soul draw near ! 
How they so softly rest, 
All in their silent graves, 
Deep to corruption 
Slowly down-sinking! 

And they no longer weep, 
Here, where complaint is still ! 
And they no longer feel, 
Here, where all gladness flies ! 
And by the cypresses 
Softly o'ershadowed, 
Until the Angel 
Calls them, they slumber! 

THE BIRD AND THE SHIP 

BY WILHELM MULLER 

" The rivers rush into the sea, 
By castle and town they go ; 



WHITHER ? 



805 



The winds behind them merrily 
Their noisy trumpets blow. 

" The clouds are passing far and high, 
We little birds in them play ; 

And everything, that can sing and fly, 
Goes with us, and far away. 

" I greet thee, bonny boat! Whither, 

or whence, 
With thy fluttering golden 

band ? s — 
"I greet thee, little bird! To the 

wide sea 
I haste from the narrow land. 

' ' Full and swollen is every sail ; 

I see no longer a hill, 
I have trusted all to the sounding gale. 

And it will not let me stand still. 

"And wilt thou, little bird, go with 
us? 
Thou mayest stand on the mainmast 
tall, 
For full to sinking is my house 
With merry companions all." — 

"I need not aud seek not company, 
Bonny boat, I can sing all alone ; 

For the mainmast tall too heavy am I, 
Bonny boat, I have wings of my 
own. 



" High over the sails, high over the 
mast, 
Who shall gainsay these joys ? 
When thy merry companions are still, 
at last, 
Thou shalt hear the sound of my 
voice. 

" Who neither may rest, nor listen 
may, 

God bless them every one ! 
I dart away, in the bright blue day, 

And the golden fields of the sun. 

" Thus do I sing my weary song, 
Wherever the four winds blow ; 
And this same song, my whole life 
long, 
Neither Poet nor Printer may 
know." 



WHITHER ? 

BY WILIIELM MULLER 

I heard a brooklet gushing 
From its rocky fountain near, 

Down into the valley rushing, 
So fresh and wondrous clear. 

I know not what came o'er me, 
Nor who the counsel gave ; 

But I must hasten downward, 
All with my pilgrim-stave ; 




^•-■MratoJi): 



From the struggle aud the strife 
Of the narrow stream I My ' ' 



8o6 



TRANSLATIONS 



Downward, and ever farther, 
And ever the brook beside ; 

And ever fresher murmured, 
And ever clearer, the tide. 

Is this the way I was going ? 

Whither, O brooklet, say! 
Thou hast, with thy soft murmur, 

Murmured my senses away. 

What do I say of a murmur ? 

That can no murmur be ; 
'T is the water-nymphs, that are sing- 
ing 

Their roundelays under me. 

Let them sing, my friend, let them 
murmur, 

And wander merrily near ; 
The wheels of a mill are going 

In every brooklet clear. 



BEWARE ! 
(Hut du dich!) 

I know a maiden fair to see, 

Take care ! 
She can both false and friendly be, 

Beware ! Beware ! 

Trust her not, 
She is fooling thee ! 

She has two eyes, so soft and brown, 

Take care ! 
She gives a side - glance and looks 
down, 
Beware ! Beware ! 
Trust her not, 
She is fooling thee ! 

And she has hair of a golden hue, 

Take care ! 
And what she says, it is not true, 

Beware ! Beware ! 

Trust her not, 
She is fooling thee! 

She has a bosom as white as snow, 

Take care ! 
She knows how much it is best to 
show, 
Beware ! Beware ! 
Trust her not, 
She is fooling thee ! 



She gives thee a garland woven fair, 

Take care ! 
It is a fool's-cap for thee to wear, 

Beware ! Beware! 

Trust her not, 
She is fooling thee ! 



SONG OF THE BELL 

Bell! thou soundest merrily, 
When the bridal party 

To the church doth hie ! 
Bell ! thou soundest solemnly, 
When, on Sabbath morning, 

Fields deserted lie ! 

Bell ! thou soundest merrily ; 
Tellest thou at evening, 

Bed-time draweth nigh ! 
Bell! thou soundest mournfully, 
Tellest thou the bitter 

Parting hath gone by ! 

Say ! how canst thou mourn ? 
How canst thou rejoice ? 

Thou art but metal dull ! 
And yet all our sorrowings, 
And all our rejoicings, 

Thou dost feel them all ! 

God hath wonders many, 
Which we cannot fathom, 

Placed within thy form ! 
When the heart is sinking, 
Thou alone canst raise it, 

Trembling in the storm ! 

THE CASTLE BY THE SEA 

BY JOHANN LTJDWIG UHLAND, 

"Hast thou seen that lordly castle, 

That Castle by the Sea ? 
Golden and red above it 

The clouds float gorgeously. 

' ' And fain it would stoop downward 
To the mirrored wave below ; 

And fain it would soar upward 
In the evening's crimson glow." 

" Well have I seen that castle, 

That Castle by the Sea, 
And the moon above it standing, 

And the mist rise solemnly." 



THE BLACK KNIGHT 



807 



'• The winds and the waves of ocean, 

Had they a merry chime ? 
Didst thou hear, * from those lofty 
chambers 

The harp and the minstrel's rhyme ? " 

,% The winds and the waves of ocean, 

They rested quietly. 
But I* heard on the gale a sound of 
wail. 

And tears came to mine eye." 

" And saw est thou on the turrets 
The King and his royal bride? 

And the wave of their crimson 
mantles ? 
And the golden crown of pride ? 

"Led they not forth, in rapture. 
A beauteous maiden there? 



To the barrier of the tight 
Rode at last a sable Knight. 

11 Sir Knight ! your name and scutch- 
eon, say!" 
"Should I speak it here, 
Ye would stand aghast with fear ; 

I am a Prince of mighty sway ! " 

When he rode into the lists, 
The arch of heaven grew black with 
mists, 20 




that lordly castle " 



Resplendent as the morning sun, 
Beaming with golden hair?" 

' ' Well saw I the ancient parents, 
Without the crown of pride; 

They were moving slow, in weeds of 
woe, 
No maiden was by their side ! " 

THE BLACK KNIGHT 

BY JOHAN LUDWIG UHLAND 

'T was Pentecost, the Feast of Glad- 
ness, 
When woods and fields put off all sad- 
ness, 
Thus began the King and spake: 
" So from the halls 
Of ancient Hofburg's walls. 

A luxuriant Spring shall break." 

Drums and trumpets echo loudly, 
Wave the crimson banners proudly, 

From balcony the King looked on ; 
In the play of spears, 10 

Fell all the cavaliers, 

Before the monarch's stalwart son. 



And the castle 'gan to rock ; 
At the first blow, 
Fell the youth from saddle-bow, 

Hardly rises from the shock. 

Pipe and viol call the dances, 
Torch-light through the high halls 
glances ; 

Waves a mighty shadow in ; 
With manner bland 
Doth ask the maiden's hand, 

Doth with her the dance begin. 30 

Danced in sable iron sark, 
Danced a measure weird and dark, 

Coldly clasped her limbs around ; 
From breast aud hair 
Down fall from her the fair 

Flowerets, faded, to the ground. 

To the sumptuous banquet came 
Every Knight and every Dame ; 

'Twixt son and daughter all dis- 
traught, 
With mournful mind 40 

The ancient King reclined, 

Gazed at them in silent thought. 



8o8 



TRANSLATIONS 



Pale the children both did look, 
But the guest a beaker took : 

"Golden wine will make you 
whole ! " 
The children drank, 
Gave many a courteous thank : 

" Oh, that draught was very cool! " 

Each the father's breast embraces, 
Son and daughter ; and their faces 50 

Colorless grow utterly ; 
Whichever way 
Looks the fear-struck father gray, 

He beholds his children die. 

"Woe! the blessM children both 
Takest thou in the j oy of youth ; 

Take me, too, the joyless father!" 
Spake the grim Guest, 
From his hollow, cavernous breast : 

' ' Roses in the spring I gather ! " 60 

SONG OF THE SILENT LAND 

BY JOHANN GAUDENZ VON SALIS- 

SEEWIS 

Into the Silent Land ! 

Ah ! who shall lead us thither ? 



Clouds in the evening sky more darkly 

gather, 
And shattered wrecks lie thicker on 

the strand. 
Who leads us with a gentle hand 
Thither, oh, thither, 
Into the Silent Land? 

Into the Silent Land ! 

To you, ye boundless regions 

Of all perfection ! Tender morning - 

visions 
Of beauteous souls! The Future's 

pledge and band ! 
Who in Life's battle firm doth 

stand, 
Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms 
Into the Silent Land ! 

O Land ! O Land ! 

For all the broken-hearted 

The mildest herald by our fate allot- 
ted, 

Beckons, and with inverted torch doth 
stand 

To lead us with a gentle hand 

To the land of the great Departed, 

Into the Silent Land ! 




Danced in sable iron sark 



THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR 



809 



THE LUCK OF EDENHALL 

BY JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND 

Of Edenhall, the youthful Lord 
Bids sound the festal trumpet's call ; 
He rises at the banquet board, 
And cries, 'mid the drunken revellers 

all, 
"Now bring me the Luck of Eden- 
hall ! " 

The butler hears the words with pain, 
The house's oldest seneschal, 
Takes slow from its silken cloth again 
The drinking-glass of crystal tall ; 
They call it the Luck of Edenhall. 10 

Then said the Lord: "This glass to 

praise, 
Fill with red wine from Portugal ! " 
The graybeard with trembling hand 

obeys ; 
A purple light shines over all, 
It beams from the Luck of Edenhall. 

Then speaks the Lord, and waves it 

light: 
' ' This glass of flashing crystal tall 
Gave to my sires the Fountain-Sprite ; 
She wrote in it, If this glass doth 

fall, 
Farewell then, Luck of Edenhall ! 20 

" 'T was right a goblet the Fate should 
be 

Of the joyous race of Edenhall! 

Deep draughts drink we right will- 
ingly ; 

And willingly ring, with merry call, 

Kling! klang! to the Luck of Eden- 
hall ! " 

First rings it deep, and full, and mild, 
Like to the song of a nightingale ; 
Then like the roar of a torrent wild ; 
Then mutters at last like the thunder's 

fall, 
The glorious Luck of Edenhall. 30 

" For its keeper takes a race of might, 
The fragile goblet of crystal tall ; 
It has lasted longer than is right ; 
Kling ! klang ! — with a harder blow 

than all 
Will I try the Luck of Edenhall ! " 



As the goblet ringing flies apart, 
Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall; 
And through the rift, the wild flames 

start ; 
The guests in dust are scattered all, 
With the breaking Luck of Eden- 
hall ! 40 

In storms the foe, with fire and sword ; 
He in the night had scaled the wall, 
Slain by the sword lies the youthful 

Lord, 
But holds in his hand the crystal tall, 
The shattered Luck of Edenhall. 

On the morrow the butler gropes 

alone, 
The graybeard in the desert hall, 
He seeks his Lord's burnt skeleton, 
He seeks in the dismal ruin's fall 
The shards of the Luck of Edenhall. 50 

" The stone wall," saith he, "doth fall 

aside, 
Down must the stately columns fall ; 
Glass is this earth's Luck and Pride ; 
In atoms shall fall this earthly ball 
One day like the Luck of Edenhall ! " 



THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR 

BY GTJSTAV PFIZER 

A youth, light-hearted and content, 
I wander through the world ; 

Here, Arab-like, is pitched my tent 
And straight again is furled. 

Yet oft I dream, that once a wife 
Close in my heart was locked, 

And in the sweet repose of life 
A blessed child I rocked. 

I wake ! Away that dream, — away! 

Too long did it remain ! 
So long, that both by night and day 

It ever comes again. 

The end lies ever in my thought ; 

To a grave so cold and deep 
The mother beautiful was brought ; 

Then dropt the child asleep. 

But now the dream is wholly o'er, 
I bathe mine eyes and see ; 



8io 



TRANSLATIONS 




that vision mild ' 



And wander through the world once 
more, 
A youth so light and free. 

Two locks — and they are wondrous 
fair — 

Left me that vision mild ; 
The brown is from the mother's hair, 

The blond is from the child. 

And when I see that lock of gold, 
Pale grows the evening-red ; 

And when the dark lock I behold, 
I wish that I were dead. 



THE HEMLOCK TREE 







hemlock tree ! O hemlock tree ! 

how faithful are thy branches ! 

Green not alone in summer time, 

But in the winter's frost and rime ! 

hemlock tree ! O hemlock tree ! 

how faithful are thy branches ! 



O maiden fair ! O maiden fair ! how 
faithless is thy bosom ! 
To love me in prosperity, 
And leave me in adversity ! 
O maiden fair ! O maiden fair ! how 
faithless is thy bosom ! 

The nightingale, the nightingale, thou 
tak'st for thine example ! 
So long as summer laughs she sings, 
But in the autumn spreads her 
wings. 
The nightingale, the nightingale, thou 
tak'st for thine example ! 

The meadow brook, the meadow 
brook, is mirror of thy false- 
hood ! 
It flows so long as falls the rain, 
In drought its springs soon dry 
again. 
The meadow brook, the meadow 
brook, is mirror of thy false- 
hood ! 



THE STATUE OVER THE CATHEDRAL DOOR 811 



ANNIE OF THARAW 

BY SIMON DACH 

Annie of Tharaw, my true love of 

old, 
She is my life, and my goods, and my 

gold. 

Annie of Tharaw her heart once again 
To me has surrendered in joy and in 
pain. 

Annie of Tharaw, my riches, my good, 
Thou, my soul, my flesh, and my 
blood ! 

Then come the wild weather, come 

sleet or come snow, 
We will stand by each other, however 

it blow. 

Oppression, and sickness, and sorrow, 

and pain 
Shall be to our true love as links to the 

chain. 

As the palm-tree standeth so straight 

and so tall, 
The more the hail beats, and the more 

the rains fall, — 

So love in our hearts shall grow 

mighty and strong, 
Through crosses, through sorrows, 

through manifold wrong. 

Shouldst thou be torn from me to 

wander alone 
In a desolate land where the sun is 

scarce known, — 

Through forests I '11 follow, and where 

the sea flows, 
Through ice, and through iron, 

through armies of foes. 

Annie of Tharaw, my light and my 

sun, 
The threads of our two lives are woven 

in one. 

Whate'er I have bidden thee thou hast 

obeyed, 
Whatever forbidden thou hast not 

gainsaid. 



How in the turmoil of life can love 

stand, 
Where there is not one heart, and one 

mouth, and one hand ? 

Some seek for dissension, and trouble, 

and strife ; 
Like a dog and a cat live such man 

and wife. 

Annie of Tharaw, such is not our love; 
Thou art my lambkin, my chick, and 
my dove. 

Whate'er my desire is, in thine may 

be seen ; 
I am king of the household, and thou 

art its queen. 

It is this, O my Annie, my heart's 

sweetest rest, 
That makes of us twain but one soul 

in one breast. 

This turns to a heaven the hut where 

we dwell; 
While wrangling soon changes a home 

to a hell. 



THE STATUE OVER THE 
CATHEDRAL DOOR 

BY JULIUS MOSEN 

Forms of saints and kings are stand- 
ing 
The cathedral door above ; 
Yet I saw but one among them 
Who hath soothed my soul with 
love. 

In his mantle, — wound about him, 
As their robes the sowers wind, — 

Bore he swallows and their fledglings, 
Flowers and weeds of every kind. 

And so stands he calm and childlike, 
High in wind and tempest wild ; 

Oh, were I like him exalted, 
I would be like him a child ! 

And my songs, — green leaves and 
blossoms, — 

To the doors of heaven would bear, 
Calling even in storm and tempest, 

Round me still these birds of air. 



812 



TRANSLATIONS 



THE LEGEND OF THE CROSS- 
BILL 

BY JULIUS MOSEN 

On the cross the dying Saviour 
Heavenward lifts his eyelids calm, 

Feels, but scarcely feels, a trembling 
In his pierced and bleeding palm. 

And by all the world forsaken, 
Sees He how with zealous care 

At the ruthless nail of iron 
A little bird is striving there. 

Stained with blood and never tiring, 
With its beak it doth not cease, 

From the cross 't would free the Sa- 
viour, 
Its Creator's Son release. 

And the Saviour speaks in mildness : 
"Blest be thou of all the good! 

Bear, as token of this moment, 
Marks of blood and holy rood ! " 

And that bird is called the crossbill ; 

Covered all with blood so clear, 
In the groves of pine it singeth 

Songs, like legends, strange to hear. 

THE SEA HATH ITS PEARLS 

BY HEINRICH HEINE 

The sea hath its pearls, 

The heaven hath its stars ; 
But my heart, my heart, 

My heart hath its love. 

Great are the sea and the heaven, 

Yet greater is my heart ; 
And fairer than pearls and stars 

Flashes and beams my love. 

Thou little, youthful maiden, 
Come unto my great heart ; 

My heart, and the sea, and the heaven 
Are melting away with love ! 

POETIC APHORISMS 

FROM THE SINNGEDICHTE OF FRIED- 
RICH VON LOGAU 



Whereunto is money good ? 
Who has it not wants hardihood. 



Who has it has much trouble and care, 
Who once has had it has despair. 

THE BEST MEDICINES 

Joy and Temperance and Repose 
Slam the door on the doctor's nose. 



Man -like is it to fall into sin, 
Fiend -like is it to dwell therein, 
Christ-like is it for sin to grieve, 
God-like is it all sin to leave. 

POVERTY AND BLINDNESS 

A blind man is a poor man, and blind 

a poor man is ; 
For the former seeth no man, and the 

latter no man sees. 

LAW OF LIFE 

Live I, so live I, 
To my Lord heartily, 
To my Prince faithfully, 
To my Neighbor honestly, 
Die I, so die I. 

CREEDS 

Lutheran, Popish, Calvinistic, all 
these creeds and doctrines three 

Extant are; but still the doubt is, 
where Christianity may be. 

THE RESTLESS HEART 

A mill-stone and the human heart are 

driven ever round ; 
If they have nothing else to grind, 

they must themselves be 

ground. 

CHRISTIAN LOVE 

Whilom Love was like a fire, and 
warmth and comfort it bespoke ; 

But, alas ! it now is quenched, and 
only bites us, like the smoke. 

ART AND TACT 

Intelligence and courtesy not always 

are combined ; 
Often in a wooden house a golden 

room we find. 

RETRIBUTION 

Though the mills of God grind slowly, 
yet they grind exceeding small ; 

Though with patience he stands wait- 
ing, with exactness grinds he 
all. 



REMORSE 



8: 



TRUTH 

When by night the frogs are croaking, 
kindle but a torch's fire, 

Ha! how soon they all are silent ! 
Thus Truth silences the liar. 



If perhaps these rhymes of mine 
should sound not well in stran- 
gers' ears, 

They have only to bethink them that 
it happens so with theirs ; 

For so long as words, like mortals, 
call a fatherland their own, 

They will be most highly valued where 
they are best and longest 
known. 



SILENT LOVE 

Who love would seek, 
Let him love evermore 

And seldom speak ; 
For in love's domain 
Silence must reign ; 

Or it brings the heart 
Smart 
And pain. 



BLESSED ARE THE DEAD 

BY SIMON DACH 

Oh, how blest are ye whose toils are 

ended ! 
"Who, through death, have unto God 

ascended ! 
Ye have arisen 
From the cares which keep us still in 

prison. 

We are still as in a dungeon living, 

Still oppressed with sorrow and mis- 
giving ; 

Our undertakings 

Are but toils, and troubles, and heart- 
breakings. 

Ye, meanwhile, are in^your chambers 
sleeping, 

Quiet, and set free from all our weep- 
ing ; 

No cross nor trial 

Hinders your enjoyments with denial. 



Christ has wiped away your tears for 
ever ; 

Ye have that for which we still en- 
deavor. 

To you are chanted 

Songs which yet no mortal ear have 
haunted. 

Ah ! who would not, then, depart 

with gladness, 
To inherit heaven for earthly sadness ? 
Who here would languish 
Longer in bewailing and in anguish ? 

Come, O Christ, and loose the chains 
that bind us ! 

Lead us forth, and cast this world be- 
hind us ! 

With thee, the Anointed, 

Finds the soul its joy and rest ap- 
pointed. 

WANDERER'S NIGHT-SONGS 

BY JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE 



Thou that from the heavens art, 
Every pain and sorrow stillest, 
And the doubly wretched heart 
Doubly with refreshment fillest, 
I am weary with contending ! 
Why this rapture and unrest ? 
Peace descending 
Come, ah, come into my breast ! 



O'er all the hill-tops 

Is quiet now, 

In all the tree -tops 

Hearest thou 

Hardly a breath ; 

The birds are asleep in the trees 

Wait ; soon like these 

Thou too shalt rest. 



REMORSE 

BY AUGUST VON PLATEN 

How I started up in the night, in the 

night, 
Drawn on without rest or reprieval ! 
The streets, with their watchmen, were 

lost to my sight, 



814 



TRANSLATIONS 



As I wandered so light 
In the night, in the night, 
Through the gate with the arch me- 
diaeval. 

The mill -brook rushed from the 
rocky height, 
I leaned o'er the bridge in my 
yearning ; 
Deep under me watched I the waves 
in their flight, 
As they glided so light 
In the night, in the night, 
Yet backward not one was returning. 

O'erhead were revolving, so countless 
and bright, 
The stars in melodious existence ; 
And with them the moon, more se- 
renely bedight; 
They sparkled so light 
In the night, in the night, 
Through the magical, measureless 
distance. 

And upward I gazed in the night, in 
the night, 
And again on the waves in their 
fleeting ; 
Ah woe ! thou hast wasted thy days 
in delight, 
Now silence thou light, 
In the night, in the night, 
The remorse in thy heart that is beat- 
ing. 

FORSAKEN 

Something the heart must have to 
cherish, 
Must love and joy and sorrow learn, 
Something with passion clasp, or 
perish, 
And in itself to ashes burn. 

So to this child my heart is cling- 
ing, 
And its frank eyes, with look in- 
tense, 
Me from a world of sin are bringing 
Back to a world of innocence. 

Disdain must thou endure forever ; 

Strong may thy heart in danger be ! 
Thou shalt not fail ! but ah, be never 

False as thy father was to me. 



Never will I forsake thee, faithless, 
And thou thy mother ne'er for 
sake, 
Until her lips are white and breath- 
less, 
Until in death her eyes shall break. 

ALLAH 

BY SIEGFRIED AUGUST MAHLMANN 

Allah gives light in darkness, 

Allah gives rest in pain, 
Cheeks that are white with weeping 

Allah paints red again. 

The flowers and the blossoms wither, 
Years vanish with flying feet; 

But my heart will live on forever, 
That here in sadness beat. 

Gladly to Allah's dwelling 
Yonder would I take flight ; 

There will the darkness vanish, 
There will my eyes have sight. 



FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON 

THE GRAVE 

For thee was a house built 

Ere thou wast born, 

For thee was a mould meant 

Ere thou of mother earnest. 

But it is not made ready, 

Nor its depth measured, 

Nor is it seen 

How long it shall be. 

Now I bring thee 

Where thou shalt be ; 10 

Now I shall measure thee, 

And the mould afterwards. 

Thy house is not 
Highly timbered, 
It is unhigh and low ; 
When thou art therein, 
The heel-ways are low, 
The side- ways unhigh. 
The roof is built ' 
Thy breast full nigh, *> 

So thou shalt in mould 
Dwell full cold, 
Dimly and dark. 



BEOWULF'S EXPEDITION TO HEORT 



8>5 



Doorless is that house, 


The omen they beheld. 


And dark it is within ; 


Had the good-man 


There thou art fast detained 


Of the Gothic people 


And Death hath the key. 


Champions chosen, 


Loathsome is that earth-house, 


Of those that keenest 


And grim within to dwell. 


He might find, 


There thou shalt dwell, 30 


Some fifteen men. 


And worms shall divide thee. 


The sea-wood sought he. 




The warrior showed, 40 


Thus thou art laid, 


Sea-crafty man ! 


And leavest thy friends ; 


The land-marks, 


Thou hast no friend, 


And first went forth. 


Who will come to thee, 


The ship was on the waves, 


Who will ever see 


Boat under the cliffs. 


How that house pleaseth thee ; 


The barons ready 


Who will ever open 


To the prow mounted. 


The door for thee, 


The streams they whirled 


And descend after thee ; 40 


The sea against the sands, 


For soon thou art loathsome 


The chieftains bore 50 


And hateful to see. 


On the naked breast 




Bright ornaments, 




War-gear, Goth-like. 


BEOWULF'S EXPEDITION TO 


The men shoved off, 


HEORT 


Men on their willing way, 




The bounden wood. 


Thus then, much care-worn, 


Then went over the sea-waves, 


The son of Healfden 


Hurried by the wind, 


Sorrowed evermore, 


The ship with foamy neck, 


Nor might the prudent hero 


Most like a sea-fowl, 60 


His woes avert. 


Till about one hour 


The war was too hard, 


Of the second day 


Too loath and longsome, 


The curved prow 


That on the people came, 


Had passed onward 


Dire wrath and grim, 


So that the sailors 


Of night-woes the worst. 10 


The land saw, 


This from home heard 


The shore -cliffs shining, 


Higelac's Thane, 


Mountains steep, 


Good among the Goths, 


And broad sea-noses. 


Grendel's deeds. 


Then was the sea-sailing 70 


He was of mankind 


Of the Earl at an end. 


In might the strongest, 


Then up speedily 


At that day 


The Weather people 


Of this life, 


On the land went, 


Noble and stalwart. 


The sea-bark moored, 


He bade him a sea-ship, 20 


Their mail-sarks shook, 


A goodly one, prepare. 


Their war-weeds. 


Quoth he, the war-king, 


God thanked they, 


Over the swan's road, 


That to them the sea- journey 


Seek he would 


Easy had been. So 


The mighty monarch, 


Then from the wall beheld 


Since he wanted men. 


The warden of the Scyldings, 


For him that journey 


He who the sea-cliffs 


His prudent fellows 


Had in his keeping, 


Straight made ready, 


Bear o'er the balks 


Those that loved him. 30 


The bright shields, 


They excited their souls, 


The war- weapons speedily. 



8i6 



TRANSLATIONS 



Him the doubt disturbed 


The bonds he breaketh 


In his mind's thought, 


By which were united 


What these men might be. 90 


The soul and the body. 


Went then to the shore, 




On his steed riding, 


Long it is thenceforth 10 


The Thane of Hrothgar. 


Ere the soul taketh 


Before the host he shook 


From God himself 


His warden's-staff in hand, 


Its woe or its weal ; 


In measured words demanded : 


As in the world erst, 


" What men are ye 


Even in its earth-vessel, 


War-gear wearing, 


It wrought before. 


Host in harness, 




Who thus the brown keel 100 


The soul shall come 


Over the water-street 


Wailing with loud voice, 


Leading come 


After a sennight, 


Hither over the sea? 


The soul, to find 20 


I these boundaries 


The body 


As shore-warden hold, 


That it erst dwelt in ; — 


That in the Land of the Danes 


Three hundred winters, 


Nothing loathsome 


Unless ere that worketh 


With a ship-crew 


The Eternal Lord, 


Scathe us might. . . . 


The Almighty God, 


Ne'er saw I mightier no 


The end of the world. 


Earl upon earth 




Than is your own, 


Crieth then, so care-worn, 


Hero in harness. 


With cold utterance, 


Not seldom this warrior 


And speaketh grimly, 30 


Is in weapons distinguished; 


The ghost to the dust: 


Never his beauty belies him, 


' ' Dry dust ! thou dreary one ! 


His peerless countenance ! 


How little didst thou labor forme J 


Now would I fain 


In the foulness of earth 


Your origin know, 


Thou all wearest away 


Ere ye forth 120 


Like to the loam! 


As false spies 


Little didst thou think 


Into the Land of the Danes 


How thy soul's journey 


Farther fare. 


Would be thereafter, 


Now, ye dwellers afar-off ! 


When from the body 40 


Ye sailors of the sea ! 


It should be led forth." 


Listen to my 




One-fold thought. 




Quickest is best 


FROM THE FRENCH 


To make known 




Whence your coming may be." 130 


SONG 




FROM THE PARADISE OF LOVE 


THE SOUL'S COMPLAINT 


Hark! hark! 


AGAINST THE BODY 


Pretty lark ! 




Little heedest thou my pain ! 


FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON 


But if to these longing arms 




Pitying Love would yield the charms 


Much it behoveth 


Of the fair 


Each one of mortals, 


With smiling air, 


That he his soul's journey 


Blithe would beat my heart again. 


In himself ponder, 




How deep it may be. 


Hark ! hark ! 


When Death cometh, 


Pretty lark! 



SPRING 



817 



Little heedest thou my pain ! 


River, and fount, and tinkling brook 


Love may force me still to bear, 


Wear in their dainty livery 


While he lists, consuming care ; 


Drops of silver jewelry ; 


But in anguish 


In new-made suit they merry look ; 


Though I languish, 


And Time throws off his cloak again 


Faithful shall my heart remain. 


Of ermined frost, and wind, and rain 


Hark! hark! 




Pretty lark 1 


SPRING 


Little heedest thou my pain! 




Then cease, Love, to torment me so ; 


BY CHARLES D' ORLEANS 


Bat rather than all thoughts forego 




Of the fair 


Gentle Spring! in sunshine clad, 


With flaxen hair, 


Well dost thou thy power display '. 


Give me back her frowns again. 


For Winter maketh the light heart 
sad, 
And thou, thou makest the sad 


Hark! hark! 


Pretty lark ! 


heart gay. 


Little heedest thou my pain ! 


He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy 

train, 
The sleet, and the snow, and the wind, 




' SONG 


and the rain ; 




And they shrink away, and they flee 


And whither goest thou, gentle sigh, 


in fear, 


Breathed so softly in my ear ? 


When thy merry step draws near. 


Say, dost thou bear his fate se- 




vere 


Winter giveth the fields and the trees, 


To Love's poor martyr doomed to 


so old, 


die? 


Their beards of icicles and snow ; 


Come, tell me quickly, — do not lie ; 


And the rain, it raineth so fast and 


What secret message bring'st thou 


cold, 


here? 


We must cower over the embers 


And whither goest thou, gentle sigh, 


low; 


Breathed so softly in my ear ? 


And, snugly housed from the wind 


May Heaven conduct thee to thy 


and weather, 


will, 


Mope like birds that are changing 


And safely speed thee on thy way ; 


feather. 


This only I would humbly pray, — 


But the storm retires, and the sky 


Pierce deep, — but oh ! forbear to 


grows clear, 


kill. 


When thy merry step draws near. 


And whither goest thou, gentle sigh, 




Breathed so softly in my ear? 


Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy 
sky 
Wrap him round with a mantle of 




THE RETURN OF SPRING 


cloud ; 




But, Heaven be praised, thy step is 


BY CHARLES D' ORLEANS 


nigh ; 




Thou tearest away the mournful 


Now Time throws off his cloak again 


shroud, 


Of ermined frost, and wind, and rain, 


And the earth looks bright, and Winter 


And clothes him in the embroidery 


surly, 


Of glittering sun and clear blue sky. 


Who has toiled for naught both late 


With beast and bird the forest rings, 


and early, 


Each in his jargon cries or sings ; 


Is banished afar by the new-born 


And Time throws off his cloak again 


year, 


Of ermined frost, and wind, and rain. 


When thy merry step draws near. 



8i8 



TRANSLATIONS 



THE CHILD ASLEEP 

BY CLOTILDE DE SURVILLE 

Sweet babe ! true portrait of thy 
father's face, 
Sleep on the bosom that thy lips 
have pressed ! 
Sleep, little one ; and closely, gently 
place 
Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother's 
breast. 

Upon that tender eye, my little friend, 
Soft sleep shall come, that cometh 
not to me ! 
I watch to see thee, nourish thee, de- 
fend : 
'T is sweet to watch for thee, alone 
for thee ! 

His arms fall down; sleep sits upon 
his brow ; 
His eye is closed ; he sleeps, nor 
dreams of harm. 
Wore not his cheek the apple's ruddy 
glow, 
Would you not say he slept on 
Death's cold arm ? 

Awake, my boy! I tremble with af- 
fright! 
Awake, and chase this fatal thought ! 
Unclose 
Thine eye but for one moment on the 
light ! 
Even at the price of thine, give me 
repose ! 

Sweet error! he but slept, I breathe 
again ; 
Come, gentle dreams, the hour of 
sleep beguile ! 
Oh, when shall he, for whom I sigh in 
vain, 
Beside me watch to see thy waking 
smile? 

DEATH OF ARCHBISHOP 
TURPIN 

FROM THE CHANSON DE ROLAND 

The Archbishop, whom God loved in 

high degree, 
Beheld his wounds all bleeding fresh 

and free : 



And then his cheek more ghastly grew 

and wan, 
And a faint shudder through his mem- 
bers ran. 
Upon the battle-field his knee was 

bent; 
Brave Roland saw, and to his succor 

went, 
Straightway his helmet from his brow 

unlaced, 
And tore the shining hauberk from his 

breast. 
Then raising in his arms the man of 

God, 
Gently he laid him on the verdant 

sod. 10 

"Rest, Sire," he cried, — "for rest 

thy suffering needs." 
The priest replied, "Think but of 

warlike deeds ! 
The field is ours ; well may we boast 

this strife ! 
But death steals on, — there is no hope 

of life ; 
In paradise, where Almoners live 

again, 
There are our couches spread, there 

shall we rest from pain." 

Sore Roland grieved ; nor marvel I, alas ! 
That thrice he swooned upon the thick 

green grass. 
When he revived, with a loud voice 

cried he, 
"O Heavenly Father! Holy Saint 

Marie ! 20 

Why lingers death to lay me in my 

grave ! 
Beloved France! how have the good 

and brave 
Been torn from thee, and left thee 

weak and poor!" 
Then thoughts of Aude, his lady-love, 

came o'er 
His spirit, and he whispered soft and 

slow, 
' ' My gentle friend ! — what parting 

full of woe ! 
Never so true a liegeman shalt thou 

see ; — 
Whate'er my fate, Christ's benison on 

thee! 
Christ, who did save from realms of 

woe beneath, 
The Hebrew Prophets from the second 

death." 30 



THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL CUILLE 



819 



Then to the Paladins, whom well he 

knew, 
He went, and one by one unaided 

drew 
To Turpin's side, well skilled in 

ghostly lore ; — 
No heart had he to smile, but, weep- 
ing sore, 
He blessed them in God's name, with 

faith that he 
Would soon vouchsafe to them a glad 

eternity. 
The Archbishop, then, on whom God's 

benison rest, 
Exhausted, bowed his head upon his 

breast : — 
His mouth was full of dust and 

clotted gore, 
And many a wound his swollen visage 

bore. 40 

Slow beats his heart, his panting 

bosom heaves, 
Death comes apace, — no hope of cure 

relieves. 
Towards heaven he raised his dying 

hands and prayed 
That God, who for our sins was mortal 

made, 
Born of the Virgin, scorned and cruci- 
fied, 
In paradise would place him by his 

side. 

Then Turpin died in service of Char- 
Ion, 

In battle great and eke great orison ; — 

'Gainst Pagan host alway strong cham- 
pion; 

God grant to him his holy benison. 30 



This is the song one might per- 
ceive 
On a Wednesday morn of St. Joseph's 
Eve: 

The roads should blossom, the roads 

should bloom, 
So fair a bride shall leave her home I 
Should blossom and bloom with garlands 

gay, 

So fair a bride shall pass to-day ! 10 




Castel Cuille 



THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL 
CUILLE 

BY JACQUES JASMIN 

Only the Lowland tongue of Scotland might 
Rehearse this little tragedy aright ; 
Let me attempt it with an English quill ; 
And take, Reader, for the deed the will. 

I 

At the foot of the mountain height 
Where is perched Castel Cuille, 
When the apple, the plum, and the al- 
mond tree 
In the plain below were growing 
white, 



This old Te Deum, rustic rites attend- 
ing, 
Seemed from the clouds descend- 
ing ; 
When lo ! a merry company 

Of rosy village girls, clean as the eye, 
Each one with her attendant 
swain, 

Came to the cliff, all singing the 
same strain ; 

Resembling there, so near unto the sky, 

Rejoicing angels, that kind heaven 
had sent 

For their delight and our encourage- 
ment. 



$2< 



TRANSLATIONS 



Together blending, 20 

And soon descending 
The narrow sweep 
Of the hillside steep, 
They wind aslant 
Towards Saint Amant, 
Through leafy alleys 
Of verdurous valleys 
With merry sallies, 
Singing their chant : 

The roads should blossom, the roads 
should bloom, 3° 

80 fair a bride shall leave her home! 

Should blossom and bloom with garlands 
gay, 

So fair a bride shall pass to-day ! 

It is Baptiste, and his affianced maiden, 
With garlands for the bridal laden ! 

The sky was blue ; without one cloud 
of gloom, 
The sun of March was shining 

brightly, 
And to the air the freshening wind 
gave lightly 
Its breathings of perfume. 

When one beholds the dusky hedges 
blossom, 40 

A rustic bridal, ah ! how sweet it is ! 
To sounds of joyous melodies, 
That touch with tenderness the tremr 
bling bosom, 
A band of maidens 
Gayly frolicking, 
A band of youngsters 
Wildly rollicking ! 
Kissing, 
Caressing, 
With fingers pressing, 50 

Till in the veriest 
Madness of mirth, as they dance, 
They retreat and advance, 
Trying whose laugh shall be 
loudest and men'iest ; 
While the bride, with roguish eyes, 
Sporting with them, now escapes and 
cries : 
' ' Those who catch me 
Married verily 
This year shall be ! " 59 

And all pursue with eager haste, 
And all attain what they pursue, 



And touch her pretty apron fresh 

and new, 
And the linen kirtle round her 

waist. 

Meanwhile, whence comes it that 

among 
These youthful maidens fresh and 

fair, 
So joyous, with such laughing 

air, 
Baptiste stands sighing, with si- 
lent tongue ? 
And yet the bride is fair and 
young ! 
Is it Saint Joseph would say to us 

all, 

That love, o'er-hasty, precedeth a 

fall? 70 

Oh no ! for a maiden frail, I trow, 

Never bore so lofty a brow ! 

What lovers! they give not a single 

caress ! 
To see them so careless and cold to- 
day, 
These are grand people, one would 
say. 
What ails Baptiste? what grief doth 
him oppress ? 

It is, that, half-way up the hill, 
In yon cottage, by whose walls 
Stand the cart-house and the stalls, 
Dwelleth the blind orphan still, 80 
Daughter of a veteran old ; 
And you must know, one year 

ago, 
That Margaret, the young and 

tender, 
Was the village pride and splen- 
dor, 
And Baptiste her lover bold. 
Love, the deceiver, them ensnared; 
For them the altar was prepared ; 
But alas! the summer's blight, 
The dread disease that none can 

stay, 
The pestilence that walks by 
night, 90 

Took the young bride's sight 
away. 

All at the father's stern command was 

changed ; 
Their peace was gone, but not their 

love estranged. 



THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL CUILLE 



821 



Wearied at home ere long the lover 

fled; 
Returned but three short days ago, 
The golden chain they round him 

throw, 
He is enticed, and onward led 
To marry Angela, and yet 
Is thinking ever of Margaret. 

Then suddenly a maiden cried, 100 
'•Anna, Theresa, Mary, Kate! 
Here comes the cripple Jane ! " And 
by a fountain's side 
A woman, bent and gray with 

years, 
Under the mulberry trees ap- 
pears, 
And all towards her run, as fleet 
As had they wings upon their 
feet. 

It is that Jane, the cripple Jane, 
Is a soothsayer, wary and kind. 
She telleth fortunes, and none com- 
plain. 109 
She promises one a village swain, 
Another a happy wedding-day, 
And the bride a lovely boy 

straightway. 
All comes to pass as she avers ; 
She never deceives, she never errs. 

But for this once the village seer 
Wears a countenance severe, 
And from beneath her eyebrows thin 

and white 
Her two eyes flash like cannons 

bright 
Aimed at the bridegroom in 

waistcoat blue, 119 

Who, like a statue, stands in 

view; 
Changing color, as well he might, 
When the beldame wrinkled and 

gray 
Takes the young bride by the 

hand, 
And, with the tip of her reedy 

wand 
Making the sign of the cross, 

doth say : — 
"Thoughtless Angela, beware! 
Lest, when thou weddest this 

false bridegroom, 
Thou diggest for thyself a tomb ! " 
And she was silent ; and the maidens 

fair 



Saw from each eye escape a swollen 

tear ; I30 

But on a little streamlet silver-clear, 
What are two drops of turbid 

rain ? 
Saddened a moment, the bridal 

train 
Resumed the dance and song 

again ; 
The bridegroom only was pale with 

fear ; — 

And down green alleys 

Of verdurous valleys, 

With merry sallies, 

They sang the refrain : — 




*-s*=~ 



..." the village seer" 

The roads should blossom, the roads 
should bloom, 140 

So fair a bride shall leave her home! 
Shoidd blossom and bloom icith garlands 

gay, 

So fair a bride shall pass to-day ! 

II 

And by suffering worn and weary, 
But beautiful as some fair angel yet, 
Thus lamented Margaret, 
In her cottage lone and dreary : — 



822 



TRANSLATIONS 




Who knows ? perhaps I am forsaken ! 



"He has arrived! arrived at last! 
Yet Jane has named him not these 

three days past ; 
Arrived ! yet keeps aloof so far ! 150 
And knows that of my night he is the 

star! 
Knows that long months I wait alone, 

benighted, 
And count the moments since he went 

away ! 
Come! keep the promise of that hap- 
pier day, 
That I may keep the faith to thee I 

plighted ! 
AVhat joy have I without thee ? what 

delight ? 
Grief wastes my life, and makes it 

misery ; 
Day for the others ever, but for me 
Forever night ! forever night ! 
When he is gone 't is dark ! my soul 

is sad ! 160 

I suffer ! O my God ! come, make me 

glad. 
When he is near, no thoughts of day 

intrude ; 
Day has blue heavens, but Baptiste 

has blue eyes ! 
Within them shines for me a heaven 

of love, 



A heaven all happiness, like that 
above, 
No more of grief ! no more of las- 
situde ! 
Earth I forget, — and heaven, and all 

distresses, 
When seated by my side my hand he 
presses ; 
But when alone, remember all ! 
Where is Baptiste ? he hears not when 
I call ! 170 

A branch of ivy, dying on the ground, 
I need some bough to twine 
around ! 
In pity come ! be to my suffering 

kind! 
True love, they say, in grief cloth 
more abound ! 
What then — when one is blind ? 

"Who knows ? perhaps I am for- 
saken ! 
Ah ! woe is me ! then bear me to my 
grave ! 

O God ! what thoughts within me 
waken ! 
Away ! he will return ! I do but rave! 

He will return ! I need not fear ! 

He swore it by our Saviour 
dear ; 181 



THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL CUILLE 



823 



He could not come at his own 

will; 
Is weary, or perhaps is ill ! 
Perhaps his heart, in this disguise, 
Prepares for me some sweet sur- 
prise ! 
But some one comes! Though blind, 

my heart can see ! 
And that deceives me not ! 't is he ! 

't is he !" 
And the door ajar is set, 
And poor, confiding Margaret 
Rises, with outstretched arms, but 

sightless eyes ; 190 

'T is only Paul, her brother, who thus 

cries : — 
" Angela the bride has passed ! 
I saw the wedding guests go by ; 
Tell me, my sister, why were we 

not asked? 
For all are there but you and I ! " 

"Angela married ! and not sent 

To tell her secret unto me ! 

Oh, speak! who may the bride- 
groom be? " 

* ' My sister, 't is Baptiste, thy 
friend ! " 

A cry the blind girl gave, but nothing 

said ; 200 

A milky whiteness spreads upon her 

cheeks ; 

An icy hand, as heavy as lead, 

Descending, as her brother speaks, 

Upon her heart, that has ceased to 

beat, 
Suspends awhile its life and heat. 
She stands beside the boy, now sore 

distressed, 
A wax Madonna as a peasant dressed. 
At length, the bridal song again 
Brings her back to her sorrow and 
pain. 

"Hark! the joyous airs are ring- 
ing! 210 

Sister, dost thou hear them sing- 
ing? 

How merrily they laugh and jest! 

Would we were bidden with the 
rest ! 

I would don my hose of homespun 
gray, 

And my doublet of linen striped 
and gay ; 



Perhaps they will come ; for they 
do not wed 

Till to-morrow at seven o'clock, it 
it is said ! " 

"I know it!" answered Marga- 
ret; 
Whom the vision, with aspect black 
as jet, 

Mastered again; and its hand of 
ice 220 

Held her heart crushed, as in a vice ! 

"Paul, be not sad! 'tis a holi- 
day; 

To-morrow put on thy doublet 
gay! 

But leave me now for awhile 
alone." 

Away, with a hop and a jump, 
went Paul, 

And, as he whistled along the hall, 

Entered Jane, the crippled crone 

' ' Holy Virgin ! what dreadful 

heat! 
I am faint, and weary, and out of 

breath ! 
But thou art cold. — art chill as 

death ; 230 

My little friend! what ails thee, 

sweet?" 
" Nothing ! I heard them singing home 

the bride ; 
And, as I listened to the song, 
I thought my turn would come 

erelong, 
Thou knowest it is at Whitsun- 
tide. 
Thy cards forsooth can never lie, 
To me such joy they prophesy, 
Thy skill shall be vaunted far and 

wide 
When they behold him at my 

side. 
And poor Baptiste, what say est 

thou ? 240 

It must seem long to him ; — methinks 

I see him now ' " 
Jane, shuddering, her hand doth 

press : 
' ' Thy love I cannot all approve ; 
We must not trust too much to happi- 
ness ; — 
Go, pray to God, that thou may est 

love him less!" 
• ' The more I pray, the more I 

love! 



824 



TRANSLATIONS 



It is no sin, for God is on my side ! " 
It was enough ; and Jane no more re- 
plied. 

Now to all hope her heart is barred 
and cold ; 249 

But to deceive the beldame old 
She takes a sweet, contented air ; 
Speak of foul weather or of fair, 
At every word the maiden smiles ! 
Thus the beguiler she beguiles ; 
So that, departing at the evening's 
close, 
She says, " She may be saved ! she 
nothing knows! 

Poor Jane, the cunning sorceress ! 
Now that thou wouldst, thou art no 

prophetess! 
This morning, in the fulness of thy 
heart, 
Thou wast so, far beyond thine 
art ! 260 

III 

Now rings the bell, nine times rever- 
berating, 

And the white daybreak, stealing up 
the sky, 

Sees in two cottages two maidens 
waiting, 
How differently ! 

Queen of a day, by flatterers caressed, 
The one puts on her cross and 

crown, 
Decks with a huge bouquet her 

breast, 
And flaunting, fluttering up and 

down, 
Looks at herself, and cannot rest. 
The other, blind, within her little 

room, 270 

Has neither crown nor flower's 

perfume ; 
But in their stead for something gropes 

apart, 
That in a drawer's recess doth lie, 
And, 'neath her bodice of bright scar- 
let dye, 
Convulsive clasps it to her heart. 

The one, fantastic, light as air, 

'Mid kisses ringing, 

And joyous singing, 
Forgets to say her morning prayer ! 



The other, with cold drops upon her 

brow, 280 

Joins her two hands, and kneels 

upon the floor, 
And whispers, as her brother opes the 

door, 

' ' O God ! forgive me now ! " 

And then the orphan, young and 

blind, 
Conducted by her brother's hand, 
Towards the church, through 

paths unscanned, 
With tranquil air, her way doth 

wind. 
Odors of laurel, making her faint and 

pale, 
Round her at times exhale, 289 
And in the sky as yet no sunny ray, 
But brumal vapors gray. 

Near that castle, fair to see, 
Crowded with sculptures old, in every 

part, 
Marvels of nature and of art, 
And proud of its name of high 

degree, 
A little chapel, almost bare 
At the base of the rock, is builded 

there ; 
All glorious that it lifts aloof, 
Above each jealous cottage roof, 
Its sacred summit, swept by autumn 

gales, 300 

And its blackened steeple high in 

air, 
Round which the osprey screams 

and sails. 

"Paul, lay thy noisy rattle by!" 
Thus Margaret said. " Where are we? 

we ascend ! " 
"Yes; seest thou not our journey's 

end? 
Hearest not the osprey from the belfry 

cry? 
The hideous bird, that brings ill luck, 

we know ! 
Dost thou remember when our father 

said, 
The night we watched beside his bed, 
' O daughter, I am weak and low; 310 
Take care of Paul ; I feel that I am 

dying ! ' 
And thou, and he, and I, all fell to 

crying ? 



THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL CUILLE 



8^5 



Then on the roof the osprey screamed 
aloud ; 

And here they brought our father in 
his shroud. 

There is his grave; there stands the 
cross we set ; 

Why dost thou clasp me so, dear Mar- 
garet ? 
Come in ! the bride will be here 
soon : 

Thou tremblest ! O my God ! thou art 
going to swoon ! " 

She could no more, — the blind girl, 

weak and weary ! 
A voice seemed crying from that grave 
so dreary, 320 

"What wouldst thou do, my daugh- 
ter ? " — and she started, 
And quick recoiled, aghast, faint- 
hearted ; 
But Paul, impatient, urges evermore 

Her steps towards the open door ; 
And when, beneath her feet, the un- 
happy maid 
Crushes the laurel near the house im- 
mortal, 
And with her head, as Paul talks on 
again, 
Touches the crown of tiligrane 
Suspended from the low-arched 

portal, 
No more restrained, no more 
afraid, 330 

She walks, as for a feast ar- 
rayed, 
And in the ancient chapel's sombre 
night 
They both are lost to sight. 

At length the bell, 

With booming sound, 

Sends forth, resounding round. 
Its hymeneal peal o'er rock and down 

the dell. 
It is broad day, with sunshine and 

with rain ; 
And yet the guests delay not long, 
For soon arrives the bridal train, 
And with it brings the village 

throng. 341 

In sooth, deceit maketh no mortal 

gay, 
For lo! Baptiste on this triumphant 

day, 



Mute as an idiot, sad as y ester- morn 

ing. 
Thinks only of the beldame's words 

of warning. 

And Angela thinks of her cross, I 

wis; 
To be a bride is all ! the pretty lisper 
Feels her heart swell to hear all round 

her whisper, 
"How beautiful! how beautiful she 



But she must calm that giddy 
head, 350 

For already the Mass is said ; 
At the holy table stands the 
priest ; 
The wedding ring is blessed ; Baptiste 
receives it ; 
Ere on the ringer of the bride he 
leaves it, 
He must pronounce one word at 
least ! 
'T is spoken ; and sudden at the 

groomsman's side 
"'Tis he!" a well-known voice has 

cried. 
And while the wedding guests all hold 

their breath, 
Opes the confessional, and the blind 

girl, see ! 
"Baptiste." she said, "since thou hast 
wished my death, 360 

As holy water be my blood for thee ! " 
And calmly in the air a knife sus- 
pended ! 
Doubtless her guardian angel near at- 
tended, 
For anguish did its work so 

well, 
That, ere the fatal stroke de- 
scended, 
Lifeless she fell ! 

At eve, instead of bridal verse, 
The De Profundis rilled the air : 
Decked with flowers a simple 

hearse 
To the churchyard forth they 

bear ; 370 

Village girls in robes of snow 

Follow, weeping as they go ; 

Nowhere was a smile that day, 

No, ah no ! for each one seemed to 



8 2 6 



TRANSLATIONS 



The road should mourn and be veiled in 


In the streets their merry rhymes. 


gloom, 


Let us by the fire 


So fair a corpse shall leave its home ! 


Ever higher 


Should mourn and should weep, ah, 


Sing them till the night expire. 


well-away ! 




So fair a corpse shall pass to-day ! 


Shepherds at the grange, 




Where the Babe was born, 


A CHRISTMAS CAROL 


Sang, with many a change, 
Christmas carols until morn. 


FROM THE NOEI BOURGUIGNON DE GUI 


Let us by the fire 


barOzai 


Ever higher 2c 




Sing them till the night expire ! 


I hear along our street 




Pass the minstrel throngs ; 


These good people sang 


Hark ! they play so sweet, 


Songs devout and sweet ; 


On their hautboys. Christmas songs ! 


While the rafters rang, 


Let us by the fire 


There they stood with freezing feet. 


Ever higher 


Let us by the fire 


Sing them till the night expire ! 


Ever higher 




Sing them till the night expire. 


In December ring 




Every day the chimes ; 


Nuns in frigid cells 


Loud the gleemen sing ro 


At this holy tide, 30 




Why dost thou clasp me so, dear Margaret " 



TO CARDINAL RICHELIEU 



827 



For want of something else, 
Christmas songs at times have tried. 

Let us by the fire 

Ever higher 
Sing them till the night expire ! 

Washerwomen old, 

To the sound they beat, 

Sing by rivers cold, 
With uncovered heads and feet. 

- Let us by the fire 
Ever higher 
Sing them till the night expire. 

Who by the fireside stands 
Stamps his feet and sings ; 
But he who blows his hands 
Not so gay a carol brings. 
Let us by the fire 
Ever higher 
Sing them till the night expire ! 



CONSOLATION 

TO M. DUPERRIER, GENTLEMAN OF AIX 
IN PROVENCE, ON THE DEATH OF HIS 
DAUGHTER 

BY FRANCOIS DE MALHERBE 

Will then, Duperrier, thy sorrow be 
eternal ? 
And shall the sad discourse 
Whispered within thy heart, by ten- 
derness paternal, 
Only augment its force ? 

Thy daughter's mournful fate, into the 
tomb descending 
By death's frequented ways, 
Has it become to thee a labyrinth 
never ending, 
Where thy lost reason strays ? 

I know the charms that made her 
youth a benediction : 
Nor should I be content, 
As a censorious friend, to solace thine 
affliction 
By her disparagement. 

But she was of the world, which fair- 
est things exposes 
To fates the most forlorn ; 



A rose, she too hath lived as long as 
live the roses, 
The space of one brief morn. 



Death has his rigorous laws, unparal- 
leled, unfeeling ; 
All prayers to him are vain ; 
Cruel, he stops his ears, and, deaf to 
our appealing, 
He leaves us to complain. 

The poor man in his hut, with only 
thatch for cover, 
Unto these laws must bend ; 
The sentinel that guards the barriers 
of the Louvre 
Cannot our kings defend. 

To murmur against death, in petulant 
defiance, 
Is never for the best ; 
To will what God doth will, that is 
the only science 
That gives us any rest. 



TO CARDINAL RICHELIEU 

BY FRANCOIS DE MALHERBE 

Thou mighty Prince of Church and 

State, 
Richelieu ! until the hour of death, 
Whatever road man chooses, Fate 
Still holds him subject to her breath. 
Spun of all silks, our days and 

nights 
Have sorrows woven with delights ; 
And of this intermingled shade 
Our various destiny appears, 
Even as one sees the course of years 
Of summers and of winters made. 

Sometimes the soft, deceitful hours 
Let us enjoy the halcyon wave ; 
Sometimes impending peril lowers 
Beyond the seaman's skill to save. 
The Wisdom, infinitely wise, 
That gives to human destinies 
Their foreordained necessity, 
Has made no law more fixed be 

low, 
Than the alternate ebb and flow 
Of Fortune and Adversity. 



8 2 8 



TRANSLATIONS 



THE ANGEL AND THE CHILD 

BY JEAN REBOUL, THE BAKER OF 

NISMES 

An angel with a radiant face, 
Above a cradle bent to look, 

Seemed his own image there to trace, 
As in the waters of a brook. 

" Dear child! who me resemblest so," 
It whispered, "come, oh come with 
me! 

Happy together let us go, 
The earth unworthy is of thee ! 

"Here none to perfect bliss attain ; 

The soul in pleasure suffering lies; 
Joy hath an undertone of pain, 

And even the happiest hours their 
sighs. 

' ' Fear doth at every portal knock ; 

Never a day serene and pure 
From the o'ershadowing tempest's 
shock 
Hath made the morrow's dawn se- 
cure. 

"What, then, shall sorrows and shall 
fears 

Come to disturb so pure a brow ? 
And with the bitterness of tears 

These eyes of azure troubled grow ? 

" Ah no ! into the fields of space, 
Away shalt thou escape with me ; 

And Providence will grant thee grace 
Of all the days that were to be. 

" Let no one in thy dwelling cower, 
In sombre vestments draped and 
veiled ; 
But let them welcome thy last hour, 
As thy first moments once they 
hailed. 

' ' Without a cloud be there each brow ; 

There let the grave no shadow 
cast; 
When one is pure as thou art now, 

The fairest day is still the last." 

And waving wide his wings of white, 
The angel, at these words, had sped 

Towards the eternal realms of light ! — 
Poor mother ! see, thy son is dead ! 



ON THE TERRACE OF THE 
AIGALADES 

BY JOSEPH MERY 

From this high portal, where up- 

springs 
The rose to touch our hands in play, 
We at a glance behold three things, — 
The Sea, the Town, and the High- 
way. 

And the Sea says: My shipwrecks 

fear; 
I drown my best friends in the deep ; 
And those who braved my tempests, 

here 
Among my sea-weeds lie asleep ! 

The Town says: I am filled and 

fraught 
With tumult and with smoke and 

care ; 10 

My days with toil are overwrought, 
And in my nights I gasp for air. 

The Highway says : My wheel-tracks 

guide 
To the pale climates of the North ; 
Where my last milestone stands abide 
The people to their death gone forth. 

Here in the shade this life of ours, 
Full of delicious air, glides by 
Amid a multitude of flowers 
As countless as the stars on high ; 20 

These red-tiled roofs, this fruitful soil, 
Bathed with an azure all divine, 
Where springs the tree that gives us oil, 
The grape that giveth us the wine ; 

Beneath these mountains stripped of 

trees, 
Whose tops with flowers are covered 

o'er, 
Where springtime of the Hesperides 
Begins, but endeth nevermore; 

Under these leafy vaults and walls, 
That unto gentle sleep persuade ; 30 
This rainbow of the waterfalls, 
Of mingled mist and sunshine made ; 

Upon these shores, where all invites, 
We live our languid life apart ; 



TO MY BROOKLET 



829 




The Sea, the Town, and the Highway 



This air is that of life's delights, 
The festival of sense and heart ; 

This limpid space of time prolong, 
Forget to-morrow in to-day, 
And leave unto the passing throng 
The Sea, the Town, and the High- 
way. 40 

TO MY BROOKLET 

BY JEAN FRANCOIS DUCTS 

Thou brooklet, all unkn6wn to song, 
Hid in the covert of the wood ! 



Ah, yes, like thee I fear the throng, 
Like thee I love the solitude. 



O brooklet, let my sorrows past 
Lie all forgotten in their graves, 

Till in my thoughts remain at last 
Only thy peace, thy flowers, thy 
waves. 



The lily by thy margin waits ; — 
The nightingale, the marguerite ; 

In shadow here he meditates 
His nest, his love, his music sweet. 



8 3 o 



TRANSLATIONS 



Near thee the self-collected soul 
Knows naught of error or of crime ; 

Thy waters, murmuring as they roll, 
Transform his musings into rhyme. 

Ah, when, on bright autumnal eves, 
Pursuing still thy course, shall I 

List the soft shudder of the leaves, 
And hear the lapwing's plaintive 
cry? 



BARRAGES 

BY LEFRANC DE POMPIGKNAN 

I leave you, ye cold mountain chains, 
Dwelling of warriors stark and f rore ! 
You, may these eyes behold no 
more, 

Save on the horizon of our plains. 



Vanish, ye frightful, gloomy views! 
Ye rocks that mount up to the 

clouds ! 
Of skies, enwrapped in misty 
shrouds, 
Impracticable avenues ! 

Ye torrents, that with might and main 
Break pathways through the rocky 

walls, 
With your terrific waterfalls 

Fatigue no more my weary brain ! 

Arise, ye landscapes full of charms, 
Arise, ye pictures of delight! 
Ye brooks, that water in your flight 

The flowers and harvests of our farms ! 

You I perceive, ye meadows green, 
Where the Garonne the lowland 
fills, 




" Like thee I love the solitude" 



A QUIET LIFE 



831 



Not far from that long chain of hills, 
With intermingled vales between. 

Yon wreath of smoke, that mounts so 
high, 
Methinks from my own hearth must 

come ; 
With speed, to that beloved home, 
Fly, ye too lazy coursers, fly ! 

And bear me thither, where the soul 
In quiet may itself possess, 
Where all things soothe the mind's 
distress, 

Where all things teach me and console. 



WILL EVER THE DEAR DAYS 
COME BACK AGAIN? 

Will ever the dear days come back 

again, 
Those days of June, when lilacs 

were in bloom, 
And bluebirds sang their sonnets in 

the gloom 
Of leaves that roofed them in from 

sun or rain? 
I know not ; but a presence will remain 
Forever and forever in this room, 
Formless, diffused in air ; like a per- 
fume, — 
A phantom of the heart, and not the 

brain. 
Delicious days! when every spoken 

word 
Was like a footfall nearer and more 

near, 
And a mysterious knocking at the 

gate 
Of the heart's secret places, and we 

heard 
In the sweet tumult of delight and 

fear 
A voice that whispered, "Open, I 

cannot wait ! " 

AT LA CHAUDEAU 

BY XAVIER MARMIER 

At La Chaudeau, — 't is long since 

then : 
I was young, — my years twice ten; 
All things smiled on' the happy boy, 
Dreams of love and songs of joy, 



Azure of heaven and wave below, 
At La Chaudeau. 

To La Chaudeau I come back old : 
My head is gray, my blood is cold ; 
Seeking along the meadow ooze, 
Seeking beside the river Seymouse, 
The days of my spring-time of long 
ago 

At La Chaudeau. 

At La Chaudeau nor heart nor brain 
Ever grows old with grief and pain ; 
A sweet remembrance keeps off age ; 
A tender friendship doth still assuage 
The burden of sorrow that one may 
know 

At La Chaudeau. 

At La Chaudeau, had fate decreed 
To limit the wandering life I lead, 
Peradventure I still, forsooth, 
Should have preserved my fresh green 

youth 
Under the shadows the hill-tops throw 
At La Chaudeau. 

At La Chaudeau, live on, my friends, 
Happy to be where God intends ; 
And sometimes, by the evening fire, 
Think of him whose sole desire 
Is again to sit in the old cMteau 
At La Chaudeau. 



A QUIET LIFE 

Let him who will, by force or fraud 
innate, 
Of courtly grandeurs gain the slip- 
pery height ; 
I, leaving not the home of my de- 
light, 
Far from the world and noise will 
• meditate. 
Then, without pomps or perils of the 
great, 
I shall behold the day succeed the 

night ; 
Behold the alternate seasons take 

their flight, 
And in serene repose old age await. 
And so. whenever Death shall come to 
close 
The happy moments that my days 
compose, 



8 3 2 



TRANSLATIONS 



I, full of years, shall die, obscure, 


Souvenirs of the days of old 


alone ! 


Already from the bottle flow. 


How wretched is the man, with honors 




crowned, 


With glass in hand our glances met ; 


Who, having not the one thing 


We pledge, we drink. How soui 


needful found, 


it is! 


Dies, known to all, but to himself 


Never Argenteuil piquette 


unknown. 


Was to my palate sour as this! 




Little sweet wine of Juran^on " 



THE WINE OF JURANQON 

BY CHAKLES COHAN 

Little sweet wine of Jurancon, 
You are dear to my memory still ! 

With mine host and his merry song, 
Under the rose-tree I drank my fill. 

Twenty years after, passing that way, 
Under the trellis I found again 

Mine host, still sitting there aufrais, 
And singing still the same refrain. 

The Jurancon, so fresh and bold, 
Treats me as one it used to know ; 



And yet the vintage was good, in 
sooth ; 
The self- same juice, the self -same 
cask! 
It was you, O gayety of my youth, 
That failed in the autumnal flask! 



FRIAR LUBIN 

BY CLEMENT MAROT 

To gallop off to town post-haste, 
So oft, the times I cannot tell ; 

To do vile deed, nor feel disgraced, 
Friar Lubin will do it well. 



THE CELESTIAL PILOT 



833 



But a sober life to lead, ' 
To honor virtue, and pursue it, 

That 's a pious, Christian deed, — 
Friar Lubin cannot do it. 

To mingle, with a knowing smile, 

The goods of others with his own, 
And leave you without cross or pile 

Friar Lubin stands alone. 
To say 't is yours is all in vain, 

If once he lays his finger to it; 
For as to giving back again, 

Friar Lubin cannot do it. 

With flattering words and gentle 
tone, 
To woo and win some guileless 
maid, 
Cunning pander need you none, — 

Friar Lubin knows the trade. 
Loud preach eth he sobriety, 

But as for water, doth eschew it ; 
Your dog may drink it, — but not 
he; 
Friar Lubin cannot do it. 



When an evil deed 's to do 
Friar Lubin is stout and true ; 
Glimmers a ray of goodness through 

it, 
Friar Lubin cannot do it. 



RONDEL 

BY JEAN FROISSART 

Love, love, what wilt thou with this 
heart of mine ? 
Naught see I fixed or sure in thee! 
I do not know thee, — nor what deeds 

are thine ; 
Love, love, what wilt thou with this 
heart of mine ? 
Naught see I fixed or sure in thee ! 

Shall I be mute, or vows with prayers 
combine? 
Ye who are blessed in loving, tell it 
me: 
Love, love, what wilt thou with this 
heart of mine ? 
Naught see I permanent or sure in 
thee! 



MY SECRET 



BY FELIX ARVERS 



My soul its secret has, my life too has 

its mystery, 
A love eternal in a moment's space 

conceived : 
Hopeless the evil is, I have not told 

its history, 
And she who was the cause nor knew 

it nor believed. 
Alas ! I shall have passed close by her 

unperceived, 
Forever at her side, and yet forever 

lonely, 
I shall unto the end have made life's 

journey, only 
Daring to ask for naught, and having 

naught, received. 
For her, though God has made her 

gentle and endearing, 
She will go on her way distraught and 

without hearing 
These murmurings of love that round 

her steps ascend, 
Piously faithful still unto her austere 

duty, 
Will say, when she shall read these 

lines full of her beauty, 
"Who can this woman be ?" and will 

not comprehend. 



FEOM THE ITALIAN 
THE CELESTIAL PILOT 

PURGATORIO II. 13-51. 

And now, behold ! as at the approach 

of morning, 
Through the gross vapors, Mars 

grows fiery red 
Down in the west upon the ocean 

floor, 
Appeared to me, — may I again be- 
hold it ! 
A light along the sea, so swiftly 

coming, 
Its motion by no flight of wing is 

equalled. 
And when therefrom I had withdrawn 

a little 
Mine eyes, that I might question my 

conductor, 



834 



TRANSLATIONS 



Again I saw it brighter grown and 


THE TERRESTRIAL PARADISE 


larger. 




Thereafter, on all sides of it, appeared 


PURGAT0RI0 XXVIII. 1-33. 


I knew not what of white, and un- 




derneath, 


Longing already to search in and 


Little by little, there came forth an- 


round 


other. 


The heavenly forest, dense and liv- 


My master j^et had uttered not a word. 


ing-green, 


While the first whiteness into wings 


Which tempered to the eyes the 


unfolded, 


new-born day. 


But, when he clearly recpgnized the 


Withouten more delay I left the bank, 


pilot, 


Crossing the level country slowly, 


He cried aloud : ' ' Quick, quick, and 


slowly, 


bow the knee ! 


Over the soil, that everywhere 


Behold the Angel of God ! fold up 


breathed fragrance. 


thy hands ! 


A gently -breathing air, that no muta- 


Henceforward shalt thou see such 


tion 


officers ! 


Had in itself, smote me upon the 


See, how he scorns all human argu- 


forehead 


ments, 


No heavier blow than of a pleasant 


So that no oar he wants, nor other sail 


breeze, 


Than his own wings, between so 


Whereat the tremulous branches read- 


distant shores ! 


ily 


See, how he holds them, pointed 


Did all of them bow downward to- 


straight to heaven, 


wards that side 


Fanning the air with the eternal 


Where its first shadow casts the Holy 


pinions, 


Mountain ; 


That do not moult themselves like 


Yet not from their upright direction 


mortal hair ! " 


bent 


And then, as nearer and more near us 


So that the little birds upon their 


came 


tops 


The Bird of Heaven, more glorious 


Should cease the practice of their 


he appeared, 


tuneful art; 


So that the eye could not sustain his 


But, with full-throated joy, the hours 


presence, 


of prime 


But down I cast it; and he came to 


Singing received they in the midst 


shore . 


of foliage 


With a small vessel, gliding swift 


That made monotonous burden to 


and light, 


their rhymes, 


So that the water swallowed naught 


Even as from branch to branch it 


thereof. 


gathering swells, 


Upon the stern stood the Celestial 


Through the pine forests on the 


Pilot ! 


shore of Chiassi, 


Beatitude seemed written in his face ! 


When iEolus unlooses the Sirocco. 


And more than a hundred spirits sat 


Already my slow steps had led me on 


within. 


Into the ancient wood so far, that I 


" In exitu Israel de JEgypto ! " 


Could see no more the place where 


Thus sang they all together in one 


I had entered. 


voice, 


And lo ! my further course cut off a 


With whatso in that Psalm is after 


river, 


written. 


Which, tow'rds the left hand, with 


Then made he sign of holy rood upon 


its little waves, 


them, 


Bent down the grass, that on its 


Whereat all cast themselves upon 


margin sprang. 


the shore, 


All waters that on earth most limpid 


And he departed swiftly as he came. 


are, 



BEATRICE 



835 




" Into the ancient wood 



Would seem to have within them- 
selves some mixture, 

Compared with that, which nothing 
doth conceal, 
Al though it moves on with a brown, 
brown current, 

Under the shade perpetual, that 
never 

Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the 
moon. 



BEATRICE 

purgatorio xxx. 13-33, 85-99, xxxi. 
13-21. 

Even as the Blessed, at the final 

summons, 
Shall rise up quickened, each one 

from his grave, 
Wearing again the garments of the 

flesh, 



So, upon that celestial chariot, 

A hundred rose ad vocem tantisenis, 

Ministers and messengers of life 

eternal. 
They all were saying, ' ' Benedictus qui 

venis," 
And scattering flowers above and 

round about, 
" Manibus o date lilia ^lenisy 
Oft have I seen, at the approach of 

day, . 10 

The orient sky all stained with 

roseate liues, 
And the other heaven with light 

serene adorned, 
And the sun's face uprising, over- 
shadowed, 
So that, by temperate influence of 

vapors, 
The eye sustained his aspect for 

long while ; 
Thus in the bosom of a cloud of 

flowers, 



8 3 6 



TRANSLATIONS 



Which from those hands angelic 

were thrown up, 
And down descended inside and 

without, 
With crown of olive o'er a snow-white 

veil, 
Appeared a lady, under a green 

mantle, 20 

Vested in colors of the living flame. 

Even as the snow, among the living 
rafters 
Upon the back of Italy, congeals, 
Blown on and beaten by Sclavonian 
winds, 
And then, dissolving, filters through 
itself, 
Whene'er the land, that loses shadow, 

breathes, 
Like as a taper melts before a fire, 
Even such I was, without a sigh or tear, 
Before the song of those who chime 

forever 

After the chiming of the eternal 

spheres; 30 

But, when I heard in those sweet 

melodies 

Compassion for me, more than had 

they said, 
"Oh wherefore, lady, dost thou 
thus consume him ? " 
The ice, that was about my heart con- 



To air and water changed, and, in 
my anguish, 

Through lips and eyes came gush- 
ing from my breast. 

Confusion and dismay, together min- 
gled, 
Forced such a feeble "Yes!" out of 

my mouth, 
To understand it one had need of 

sight. 
Even as a cross-bow breaks, when 't is 

discharged, 40 

Too tensely drawn the bow-string 

and the bow, 
And with less force the arrow hits 

the mark ; 
So I gave way beneath this heavy 

burden, 
Gushing forth into bitter tears and 

sighs, 
And the voice, fainting, flagged 

upon its passage. 



TO ITALY 

BY VINCENZO DA FILICAJA 

Italy ! Italy ! thou who 'rt doomed to 
wear 

The fatal gift of beauty, and possess 

The dower funest of infinite wretch- 
edness 

Written upon thy forehead by de- 
spair ; 
Ah! would that thou wert stronger, 
or less fair, 

That they might fear thee more, or 
love thee less, 

Who in the splendor of thy love- 
liness 

Seem wasting, yet to mortal combat 
dare! 
Then from the Alps I should not see 
descending 

Such torrents of armed men, nor 
Gallic horde 

Drinking the wave of Po, distained 
with gore, 
Nor should I see thee girded with a 
sword 

Not thine, and with the stranger's 
arm contending, 

Victor or vanquished, slave forever- 
more. 



SEVEN SONNETS AND A CAN- 
ZONE 

The following translations are from the poems 
of Michael Angelo as revised by his nephew, Mi- 
chael Angelo the Younger, and were made before 
the publication of the original text by Guasti. 



THE ARTIST 

Nothing the greatest artist can con- 
ceive 

That every marble block doth not 
confine 

Within itself : and only its design 

The hand that follows intellect can 
achieve. 
The ill I flee, the good that I believe, 

In thee, fair lady, lofty and divine. 

Thus hidden lie ; and so that death 
be mine, 

Art, of desired success, doth me be 



SEVEN SONNETS AND A CANZONE 



837 



Love is not guilty, then, nor thy fair 
face, 
Nor fortune, cruelty, nor great dis 

dain, 
Of my disgrace, nor chance nor des- 
tiny, 
If in thy heart both death and love 
find place 
At the same time, and if my humble 

brain, 
Burning, can nothing draw but 
death from thee. 



II 

FIRE 

Not without fire can any workman 
mould 

The iron to his preconceived de- 
sign, 

Nor can the artist without fire re- 
fine 

And purify from all its dross the 
gold; 
Nor can revive the phoenix, we are 
told, 

Except by fire. Hence, if such death 
be mine, 

I hope to rise again with the divine, 

Whom death augments, and time 
cannot make old. 
O sweet, sweet death! O fortunate 
fire that burns 

Within me still to renovate my days, 

Though I am almost numbered with 
the dead ! 
If by its nature unto heaven returns 

This element, me, kindled in its 
blaze, 

Will it bear upward when my life is 
fled. 

in 

YOUTH AND AGE 

Oh give me back the days when loose 

and free 
To my blind passion were the curb 

and rein, 
Oh give me back the angelic face 

again, 
With which all virtue buried seems 

to be! 




Fire 



Oh give my panting footsteps back to 

me, 
That are in age so slow and fraught 

with pain, 
And fire and moisture in the heart 

and brain. 
If thou wouldst have me burn and 

weep for thee ! 
If it be true thou livest alone, 

Amor, 
On the sweet-bitter tears of human 

hearts, 
In an old man thou canst not wake 

desire; 
Souls that have almost reached the 

other shore 



8 3 8 



TRANSLATIONS 



Of a diviner love should feel the 

darts, 
And be as tinder to a holier fire. 



OLD AGE 




The 



In 



Youth and Age 



Old Age 



course of my long life hath 

reached at last, 

fragile bark o'er a tempestuous 

sea, 
The common harbor, where must 

rendered be 
Account of all the actions of the past. 
The impassioned phantasy, that, vague 

and vast, 
Made art an idol and a king to me, 
Was an illusion, and but vanity 
Were the desires that lured me and 

harassed. 
The dreams of love, that were so sweet 

of yore, 
What are they now, when two 

deaths may be mine, — 
One sure, and one forecasting its 

alarms? 
Painting and sculpture satisfy no more 
The soul now turning to the Love 

Divine, 
That oped, to embrace us, on the 

cross its arms. 



TO VITTORIA COLONNA 

Lady, how can it chance — yet this 
we see 
In long experience — that will longer 

last 
A living image carved from quarries 

vast 
Than its own maker, who dies pre- 
sently ? 
Cause yieldeth to effect if this so be, 
And even Nature is by Art sur- 
passed ; 
This know I, who to Art have given 

the past, 
But see that Time is breaking faith 
with me. 
Perhaps on both of us long life can I 
Either in color or in stone bestow, 
By now portraying each in look and 
mien ; 
So that a thousand years after we die, 
• How fair thou wast, and I how full 
of woe, 
And wherefore I so loved thee, may 
be seen. 



SEVEN SONNETS AND A CANZONE 



S39 



VI 



TO VITTORIA COLONNA 

When the prime mover of my many 

sighs 
Heaven took through death from 

out her earthly place, 
Nature, that never made so fair a 

face, 
Remained ashamed, and tears were 

in all eyes. 
O fate, unheeding my impassioned 

cries ! 
O hopes fallacious ! O thou spirit of 

grace, 
Where art thou now ? Earth holds 

in its embrace 
Thy lovely limbs, thy holy thoughts 

the skies. 
Vainly did cruel death attempt to stay 
The rumor of thy virtuous renown, 
That Lethe's waters could not wash 

away! 
A thousand leaves, since he hath 

stricken thee down, 
Speak of thee, nor to thee could 

Heaven convey, 
Except through death, a refuge and 



DANTE 

What should be said of him cannot 
be said ; 

By too great splendor is his name 
attended ; 

To blame is easier those who him 
offended, 

Than reach the faintest glory round 
him shed. 
This man descended to the doomed 
and dead 

For our instruction ; then to God as- 
cended ; 

Heaven opened wide to him its por- 
tals splendid, 

Who from his country's, closed 
against him, fled. 
Ungrateful land ! To its own prejudice 

Nurse of his fortunes ; and this 
showeth well 

That the most perfect most of grief 
shall see. 
Among a thousand proofs let one suf- 
fice, 



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To Vittoria Colouna 



That as his exile bath no parallel, 
Ne'er walked the earth a greater 
man than he. 



840 



TRANSLATIONS 



VIII 
CANZONE 

Ah me! ah me! when thinkiDg of the 
years, 
The vanished years, alas, I do not 

find 
Among them all one day that was 
my own! 
Fallacious hopes, desires of the un- 
known, 
Lamenting, loving, burning, and in 

tears, 
(For human passions all have stirred 
my mind,) 
Have held me, now I feel and know, 

confined 
Both from the true and good still far 
away. 
I perish day by day ; 
The sunshine fails, the shadows grow 

more dreary, 
And I am near to fall, infirm and 
weary. 



THE NATURE OF LOVE 

BY GUIDO GUINIZELLI 

To noble heart Love doth for shelter 

fly, 
As seeks the bird the forest's leafy 

shade ; 
Love was not felt till noble heart beat 

high, 
Nor before love the noble heart was 

made. 
Soon as the sun's broad flame 
Was formed, so soon the clear light 

filled the air; 
Yet was not till he came : 
So love springs up in noble breasts, 

and there 
Has its appointed space, 
x^s heat in the bright flames finds its 

allotted place. 
Kindles in noble heart the fire of 

love, 
As hidden virtue in the precious stone : 
This virtue comes not from the stars 

above, 
Till round it the ennobling sun has 

shone; 
But when his powerful blaze 



Has drawn forth what was vile, the 
stars impart 
Strange virtue in their rays; 
And thus when Nature doth create the 
heart 
Noble and pure and high, 
Like virtue from the star, love comes 
from woman's eye. 



FROM THE PORTUGUESE 



SONG 



BY GIL VICENTE 



If thou art sleeping, maiden, 
Awake, and open thy door. 

'T is the break of day, and we must 
away, 
O'er meadow, and mount, and moor. 

Wait not to find thy slippers, . 

But come with thy naked feet: 
We shall have to pass through the 
dewy grass, 

And waters wide and fleet. 



FROM EASTERN SOURCES 
THE FUGITIVE 

A TARTAR SONG 



" He is gone to the desert land ! 
I can see the shining mane 
Of his horse on the distant plain, 
As he rides with his Kossak band ! 

' Come back, rebellious one ! 
Let thy proud heart relent ; 
Come back to my tall, white tent, 
Come back, my only son ! 

1 Thy hand in freedom shall 
Cast thy hawks, when morning 
breaks, 10 

On the swans of the Seven Lakes, 
On the lakes of Karajal. 

' I will give thee leave to stray 
And pasture thy hunting steeds 
In the long grass and the reeds 
Of the meadows of Karaday. 



THE 


FUGITIVE 841 


" I will give thee my coat of mail, 




' ' God will appoint the day 


Of softest leather made, 




When I again shall be 


With choicest steel inlaid ; 




By the blue, shallow sea, 


Will not all this prevail ? " 


20 


Where the steel-bright sturgeons 


ii 




play. 40 
"God, who doth care for me, 


" This baud no longer shall 




In the barren wilderness, 


Cast my hawks, when morning 


On unknown hills, no less 


breaks, 




Will my companion be. 


On the swans of the Seven Lakes, 






-On the lakes of Karajal. 




"When I wander lonely and lost 
In the wind ; when I watch at 


" I will no longer stray 




night 


And pasture my hunting steeds 




Like a hungry wolf, and am white 


In the long grass and the reeds 




And covered with hoar-frost ; 


Of the meadows of Karaday. 




"Yea, wheresoever I be, 


"Though thou give me thy coat of 


In the yellow desert sands, 50 


mail, 




In mountains or unknown lands, 


Of softest leather made, 


30 


Allah will care for me ! " 


With choicest steel inlaid, 






All this cannot prevail. 




in 


" What right hast thou, Khan, 




Then Sobra, the old, old man, — 


To me, who am mine own, 




Three hundred and sixty 5 T ears 


AVho am slave to God alone, 




Had he lived in this land of tears. 


And not to any man? 




Bowed down and said, " Khan! 




" Ab he rides with his Kossak band : 



842 



TRANSLATIONS 



' ' If you bid me, I will speak. 
There 's no sap in dry grass, 
No marrow in dry bones ! Alas, 
The mind of old men is weak ! 60 

" I am old, I am very old: 
I have seen the primeval man, 
I have seen the great Genghis Khan, 
Arrayed in his robes of gold. 

"What I say to you is the truth ; 
And I say to you, O Khan, 
Pursue not the star-white man, 
Pursue not the beautiful youth. 

"Him the Almighty made, 
And brought him forth of the 
light 70 

At the verge and end of the night, 
When men on the mountain prayed. 

"He was born at the break of day, 
When abroad the angels walk ; 
He hath listened to their talk, 
And he knoweth what they say. 

" Gifted with Allah's grace, 
Like the moon of Ramazan 
When it shines in the skies, O Khan, 
Is the light of his beautiful face. 80 

"When first on earth he trod, 
The first words that he said 
Were these, as he stood and prayed, 
' There is no God but God ! ' 

" And he shall be king of men, 
For Allah hath heard his prayer, 
And the Archangel in the air, 
Gabriel, hath said, Amen! " 



THE SIEGE OF KAZAN 

Black are the moors before Kazan, 
And their stagnant waters smell of 
blood : 
I said in my heart, with horse and 
man, 
I will swim across this shallow flood. 

Under the feet of Argamack, 
Like new moons were the shoes he 
bare, 

Milken trappings hung on his back, 
In a talisman on his neck, a prayer. 



My warriors, thought I, are following 
me; 

But when I looked behind, alas! 
Not one of all the band could I see, 

All had sunk in the black morass ! 

Where are our shallow fords? and 
where 
The power of Kazan with its four- 
fold gates ? 
From the prison windows our maidens 
faii- 
Talk of us still through the iron 
grates. 

We cannot hear them ; for horse and 
man 
Lie buried deep in the dark abyss! 
Ah ! the black day hath come down on 
Kazan ! 
Ah! was ever a grief like this ? 



THE BOY AND THE BROOK 

Down from yon distant mountain 
height 
The brooklet flows through the vil- 
lage street ; 
A boy comes forth to wash his hands, 
Washing, yes, washing, there he 
stands, 
In the water cool and sweet. 

Brook, from what mountain dost thou 
come? 
O my brooklet cool and sweet! 
I come from yon mountain high and 

cold 
Where lieth the new snow on the old, 
And melts in the summer heat. 

Brook, to what river dost thou go ? 

O my brooklet cool and sweet ! 
I go to the river there below 
Where in bunches the violets grow, 

And sun and shadow meet. 

Brook, to what garden dost thou go ? 

O my brooklet cool and sweet! 
I go to the garden in the vale 
Where all night long the nightingale 

Her love-song doth repeat. 

Brook, to what fountain dost thou go? 
O my brooklet cool and sweet! 



TO THE STORK 



843 




" Not one of all the band could I see 



I go to the fountain at whose brink 
The maid that loves thee comes to 

drink, 
And whenever she looks therein, 
I rise to meet her, and kiss her chin, 
And my joy is then complete. 

TO THE STORK 

Welcome. O Stork! that dost wing 
Thy flight from the far-away ! 



Thou hast brought us the signs of 
Spring, 
Thou hast made our sad hearts gay. 

Descend, O Stork ! descend 

Upon our roof to rest; 
In our ash tree, O my friend, 

My darling, make thy nest. 

To thee, O Stork, I complain, 
O Stork, to thee I impart 



8 4 4 



TRANSLATIONS 



The thousand sorrows, the pain 
And aching of my heart. 

When thou away didst go, 
Away from this tree of ours, 

The withering winds did blow, 
And dried up all the flowers. 

Dark grew the brilliant sky, 
Cloudy and dark and drear ; 

They were breaking the snow on high, 
And winter was drawing near. 

From Varaca's rocky wall, 

From the rock of Varaca unrolled, 
The snow came and covered all, 

And the green meadow was cold. 

O Stork, our garden with snow 
Was hidden away and lost, 

And the rose-trees that in it grow 
Were withered by snow and frost. 

FEOM THE LATIN 
VIRGIL'S FIRST ECLOGUE 

MELIBCEUS. 

Tityrus, thou in the shade of a spread- 
ing beech tree reclining 

Meditatest, with slender pipe, the 
Muse of the woodlands. 



We our country's bounds and pleasant 

pastures relinquish, 
We our country fly; thou, Tityrus, 

stretched in the shadow, 
Teachest the woods to resound with 

the name of the fair Amaryllis. 

TITYRUS. 

O Melibceus, a god for us this leisure 

created, 
For he will be unto me a god forever ; 

his altar 
Oftentimes shall imbue a tender lamb 

from our sheepfolds. 
He, my heifers to wander at large, and 

myself, as thou seest, 
On my rustic reed to play what I will, 

hath permitted. 10 



MELIBCEUS. 



on 



Truly I envy not, I marvel rather 
all sides 

In all the fields is such trouble. Be- 
hold, my goats I am driving, 

Heartsick, further away ; this one 
scarce, Tityrus, lead I ; 

For having here yeaned twins jus. 1 
now among the dense hazels, 

Hope of the flock, ah me! on the 
naked flint she hath left them. 

Often this evil to me, if my mind had 
not been insensate, 




Descend, Stork ! descend 
Upon our roof to rest " 



VIRGIL'S FIRST ECLOGUE 



845 



Oak trees stricken by heaven predicted, 
as now I remember ; 

Often the sinister crow from the hol- 
low ilex predicted. 

Nevertheless, who this god may be, O 
Tityrus, tell me. 

TITYRUS. 

Meliboeus, the city that they call 

Rome, I imagined, 20 

Foolish I! to be like this of ours, 

where often we shepherds 
Wonted are to drive down of our ewes 

the delicate offspring. 
Thus whelps like unto dogs had I 

known, and kids to their 

mothers, 
Thus to compare great things with 

small had I been accustomed. 
But this among other cities its head as 

far hath exalted 
As the cypresses do among the lissome 

viburnums. 

MELIBOEUS. 

And what so great occasion of seeing 
Rome hath possessed thee? 

TITYRUS. 

Liberty, which, though late, looked 
upon me in my inertness, 

After the time when my beard fell 
whiter from me in shaving, 

Yet she looked upon me, and came to 
me after a long while, 30 

Since Amaryllis possesses and Galatea 
hath left me. 

For I will even confess that while Gal- 
atea possessed me 

Neither care of my flock nor hope of 
liberty was there. 

Though from my wattled folds there 
went forth many a victim, 

And the unctuous cheese was pressed 
for the city ungrateful, 

Never did my right hand return home 
heavy with money. 

MELIBCEUS. 

1 have wondered why sad thou in- 

vokedst the gods, Amaryllis, 
And for whom thou didst suffer the 
apples to hang on the branches ! 
Tityrus hence was absent! Thee, Ti- 
tyrus, even the pine trees, 



Thee the very fountains, the very 
copses were calling. 40 

TITYRUS. 

What could I do ? No power had I to 
escape from my bondage, 

Nor had I power elsewhere to recog- 
nize gods so propitious. 

Here I beheld that youth, to whom 
each year, Meliboeus, 

During twice six days ascends the 
smoke of our altars. 

Here first gave he response to me soli- 
citing favor: 

' ' Feed as before your heifers, ye boys, 
and yoke up your bullocks." 

MELIBCEUS. 

Fortunate old man ! So then thy fields 

will be left thee, 
And large enough for thee, though 

naked stone and the marish 
All thy pasture -lands with the dreggy 

rush may encompass. 
No unaccustomed food thy gravid ewes 

shall endanger, 50 

Nor of the neighboring flock the dire 

contagion infect them. 
Fortunate old man ! Here among 

familiar rivers, 
And these sacred founts, shalt thou 

take the shadowy coolness. 
On this side, a hedge along the neigh- 
boring cross-road, 
Where Hyblaean bees ever feed on the 

flower of the willow, 
Often with gentle susurrus to fall 

asleep shall persuade thee. 
Yonder, beneath the high rock, the 

primer shall sing to the breezes, 
Nor meanwhile shall the heart's de- 
light, the hoarse wood-pigeons, 
Nor the turtle-dove cease to mourn 

from aerial elm trees. 

TITYRUS. 

Therefore the agile stags shall sooner 
feed in the ether, 60 

And the billows leave the fishes bare 
on the sea-shore, 

Sooner, the border-lands of both over- 
passed, shall the exiled 

Parthian drink of the Soane, or the 
German drink of the Tigris, 

Than the face of him shall glide away 
from my bosom ! 



846 



TRANSLATIONS 




" Fortunate old man ! Here 
shalt thou take the shadowy coolness " 



MELIBCEUS. 

But we hence shall go, a part to the 
thirsty Africs, 

Part to Scythia come, and the rapid 
Cretan Oaxes, 

And to the Britons from all the uni- 
verse utterly sundered. 

Ah, shall I ever, a long time hence, 
the bounds of my country 

And the roof of my lowly cottage 
covered with greensward 69 

Seeing, with wonder behold, — my king- 
doms, a handful of wheat-ears ! 



Shall an impious soldier possess these 

lands newly cultured, 
And these fields of corn a barbarian ? 

Lo, whither discord 
Us wretched people hath brought ! 

for whom our fields we have 

planted ! 
Graft, Melibceus, thy pear trees now, 

put in order thy vineyards. 
Go, my goats, go hence, my flocks so 

happy aforetime. 
Never again henceforth outstretched 

in my verdurous cavern 



OVID IN EXILE 



847 



Shall I behold you afar from the bushy 

precipice hanging. 
Songs no more shall I sing ; not with 

me, ye goats, as your shepherd, 
Shall ye browse on the bitter willow 

or blooming laburnum. 

TITYRUS. 

Nevertheless, this night together with 
me canst thou rest thee 80 

Here on the verdant leaves; for us 
there are mellowing apples, 

Chestnuts soft to the touch, and clouted 
cream in abundance ; 

And the high roofs now of the villages 
smoke in the distance, 

And from the lofty mountains are fall- 
ing larger the shadows. 



OVID IN EXILE 

AT TOMIS, IN BESSARABIA, NEAR THE 
MOUTHS OP THE DANUBE 

T ristia, Book III., Elegy X. 

Should any one there in Rome re- 
member Ovid the exile, 
And, without me, my name still in 
the city survive ; 

Tell him that under stars which never 
set in the ocean 
I am existing still, here in a barba- 
rous land. 

Fierce Sarmatians encompass me 
round, and the Bessi and Getae ; 
Names how unworthy to be sung 
by a genius like mine ! 

Yet when the air is warm, intervening 
Ister defends us : 
He, as he flows, repels inroads of 
war with his waves. 

But when the dismal winter reveals 
its hideous aspect, 
When all the earth becomes white 
with a marble -like frost ; 10 

And when Boreas is loosed, and the 
snow hurled under Arcturus, 
Then these nations, in sooth, shud- 
der and shiver with cold. 



Deep lies the snow, and neither the sun 
nor the rain can dissolve it; 
Boreas hardens it still, makes it for- 
ever remain. 

Hence, ere the first has melted away, 
another succeeds it, 
And two years it is wont, in many 
places, to lie. 

And so great is the power of the North - 
wind awakened, it levels 
Lofty towers with the ground, roofs 
uplifted bears off. 

Wrapped in skins, and with trousers 

sewed, they contend with the 

weather, 

And their faces alone of the whole 

body are seen. 20 

Often their tresses, when shaken, with 
pendent icicles tinkle, 
And their whitened beards shine 
with the gathering frost. 

Wines consolidate stand, preserving 
the form of the vessels ; 
No more draughts of wine, — pieces 
presented they drink. 

Why should I tell you how all the 
rivers are frozen and solid, 
And from out of the lake frangible 
water is dug ? 

Ister, — no narrower stream than the 

river that bears the papyrus, — 

Which through its many mouths 

mingles its waves with the 

deep; 

Ister, with hardening winds, congeals 
its cerulean waters, 
Under a roof of ice winding its way 
to the sea. 30 

There where ships have sailed, men go 
on foot; and the billows, 
Solid made by the frost, hoof -beats 
of horses indent. 

Over unwonted bridges, with water 
gliding beneath them, 
The Sarmatian steers drag their bar- 
barian carts. 



8 4 8 



TRANSLATIONS 



Scarcely shall I be believed ; yet when 
naught is gained by a false- 
hood, 
Absolute credence then should to a 
witness be given. 

I have beheld the vast Black Sea of 
ice all compacted, 
And a slippery crust pressing its 
motionless tides. 

'T is not enough to have seen, I have 
trodden this indurate ocean; 
Dry shod passed my foot over its 
uppermost wave. 40 

If thou hadst had of old such a sea as 
this is, Leander! 
Then thy death had not been charged 
as a crime to the Strait. 

Nor can the curved dolphins uplift 
themselves from the water ; 
All their struggles to rise merciless 
winter prevents ; 

And though Boreas sound with roar 
of wings in commotion, 
In the blockaded gulf never a wave 
will there be ; 

And the ships will stand hemmed in 
by the frost, as in marble, 
Nor will the oar have power through 
the stiff waters to cleave. 

Fast-bound in the ice have I seen the 
fishes adhering, 
Yet notwithstanding this some of 
them still were alive. 50 

Hence, if the savage strength of omni- 
potent Boreas freezes 
Whether the salt-sea wave, whether 
the refluent stream, — 

Straightway, — the Ister made level 
by arid blasts of the North- 
wind, — 
Comes the barbaric foe borne on his 
swift-footed steed ; 

Foe, that powerful made by his steed 
and his far-flying arrows, 
All the neighboring land void of in- 
habitants makes. 



Some take flight, and none being left 
to defend their possessions, 
Unprotected, their goods pillage and 
plunder become ; 

Cattle and creaking carts, the little 
wealth of the country, 
And what riches beside indigent 
peasants possess. 60 

Some as captives are driven along, 
their hands bound behind them, 
Looking backward in vain toward 
their Lares and lands. 

Others, transfixed with barbM arrows, 
in agony perish. 
For the swift arrow-heads all have 
in poison been dipped. 

What they cannot carry or lead away 
they demolish, 
And the hostile flames burn up the 
innocent cots. 

Even when there is peace, the fear of 
war is impending ; 
None, with the ploughshare pressed, 
furrows the soil any more. 

Either this region sees, or fears a foe 
that it sees not, 
And the sluggish land slumbers in 
utter neglect. 70 

No sweet grape lies hidden here in the 
shade of its vine -leaves, 
No fermenting must fills and o'er- 
flows the deep vats. 

Apples the region denies ; nor would 
Acontius have found here 
A^ught upon which to write words 
for his mistress to read. 

Naked and barren plains without 
leaves or trees we behold here, — 
Places, alas! unto which no happy 
man would repair. 

Since then this mighty orb lies open 
so wide upon all sides, 
Has this region been found only my 
prison to be? . 



OVID IN EXILE 



849 




il Now the boys and the laughing girls the violet gather " 



Tristia, Book III., Elegy XII. 

Now the zephyrs diminish the cold, 
and the year being ended, 
Winter Mseotian seems longer than 
ever before ; 

And the Ram that bore unsafely the 
burden of Helle, 
Now makes the hours of the day 
equal with those of the night. 

Now the boys and the laughing girls 
the violet gather, 
Which the fields bring forth, nobody 
sowing the seed. 

Now the meadows are blooming with 
flowers of various colors, 
And with untaught throats carol the 
garrulous birds. 

Now the swallow, to shun the crime 
of her merciless mother, 
Under the rafters builds cradles and 
dear little homes ; :o 



And the blade that lay hid, covered 
up in the furrows of Ceres, 
Now from the tepid ground raises 
its delicate head. 

Where there is ever a vine, the bud 
shoots forth from the tendrils, 
But from the Getic shore distant afar 
is the vine ! 

Where there is ever a tree, on the tree 
the branches are swelling, 
But from the Getic land distant afar 
is the tree ! 

Now it is holiday there in Rome, and 
to games in due order 
Give place the windy wars of the 
vociferous bar. 

Now they are riding the horses ; with 
light arms now they are play- 
ing, 
Now with the ball, and now round 
rolls the swift-flying hoop : 20 



8 5 o 



TRANSLATIONS 



Now, when the young athlete with 
flowing oil is anointed, 
He in the Virgin's Fount bathes, 
overwearied, his limbs. 

Thrives the stage ; and applause, with 
voices at variance, thunders, 
And the Theatres three for the three 
Forums resound. 

Four times happy is he, and times 
without number is happy, 
Who the city of Rome, uninter- 
dicted, enjoys. 

But all I see is the snow in the vernal 
sunshine dissolving. 
And the waters no more delved from 
the indurate lake. 

Nor is the sea now frozen, nor as be- 
fore o'er the Ister 
Comes the Sarmatian boor driving 
his stridulous cart. 30 

Hitherward, nevertheless, some keels 
already are steering, 
And on this Pontic shore alien ves- 
sels will be. 

Eagerly shall I run to the sailor, and, 
having saluted, 
Who he may be, I shall ask ; where- 
fore and whence he hath come. 

Strange indeed will it be, if he come 
not from regions adjacent, 
And incautious unless ploughing the 
neighboring sea. 

Rarely a mariner over the deep from 
Italy passes, 



Rarely he comes to these shores, 
wholly of harbors devoid. 

Whether he knoweth Greek, or whe- 
ther in Latin he speaketh, 
Surely on this account he the more 
welcome will be. 40 

Also perchance from the mouth of the 
Strait and the waters Propontic, 
Unto the steady South-wind, some 
one is spreading his sails. 

Whosoever he is, the news he can 
faithfully tell me, 
Which may become a part and an 
approach to the truth. 

He, I pray, may be able to tell me the 
triumphs of Caesar, 
Which he has heard of, and vows 
paid to the Latian Jove ; 

And that thy sorrowful head, Germa- 
nia, thou, the rebellious, 
Under the feet, at last, of the Great 
Captain hast laid. 

Whoso shall tell me these things, that 

not to have seen will afflict me, 

Forthwith unto my house welcomed 

as guest shall he be. 50 

Woe is me ! Is the house of Ovid in 
Scythian lands now ? 
And doth punishment now give me 
its place for a home ? 

Grant, ye gods, that Caesar make this not 
my house and my homestead, 
But decree it to be only the inn of 
my pain. 




NOTES 



Page 5. He the young and strong- 

[.Refers to the poet's friend and brother- 
in-law, George W. Pierce.] 

Page 5. The Being Beauteous. 

[The reference is to the first Mrs. Long- 
fellow.] 

Page 15. The Skeleton in Armor. 

This ballad was suggested to me while 
riding on the sea-shore at Newport. A 
year or two previous a skeleton had been 
dug up at Fall River, clad in broken and 
corroded armor ; and the idea occurred to 
me of connecting it with the Round Tower 
at Newport, generally known hitherto as 
the Old Windmill, though now claimed by 
the Danes as a work of their early ances- 
tors. Pcofessor Rafn, in the Memoires de 
la Societe Royale des Antiquaires du Nord, 
for 1838-1839, says : — 

" There is no mistaking in this instance 
the style in which the more ancient stone 
edifices of the North were constructed, — 
the style which belongs to the Roman or 
Ante-Gothic architecture, and which, es- 
pecially after the time of Charlemagne, 
diffused itself from Italy over the whole of 
the West and North of Europe, where it 
continued to predominate until the close 
of the twelfth century, — that style which 
some authors have, from one of its most 
striking characteristics, called the round 
arch style, the same which in England is 
denominated Saxon and sometimes Nor- 
man architecture. 

"On the ancient structure in Newport 
there are no ornaments remaining, which 
might possibly have served to guide us in 
assigning the probable date of its erection. 
That no vestige whatever is found of the 
pointed arch, nor any approximation to it, 
is indicative of an earlier rather than of a 
later period. From such characteristics as 
remain, however, we can scarcely form any 
other inference than one, in which I am 
persuaded that all who are familiar with 
Old - Northern architecture will concur, 

THAT THIS BUILDING WAS ERECTED AT A 
PERIOD DECIDEDLY NOT LATER THAN THE 

twelfth CENTURY. This remark applies, 
of course, to the original building only, 
and not to the alterations that it subse- 
quently received ; for there are several 
such alterations in the upper part of the 
building which cannot be mistaken, and 



which were most likely occasioned by its 
being adapted in modern times to various 
uses : for example, as the substructure of 
a windmill, and latterly as a hay magazine. 
To the same times may be referred the 
windows, the fireplace, and the apertures 
made above the columns. That this build- 
ing could not have been erected for a 
windmill, is what an architect will easily 
discern." 

I will not enter into a discussion of the 
point. It is sufficiently well established 
for the purpose of a ballad ; though doubt- 
less many a citizen of Newport, who has 
passed his days within sight of the Round 
Tower, will be ready to exclaim, with 
Sancho : " God bless me ! did I not warn 
you to have a care of what you were doing, 
for that it was nothing but. a windmill ; 
and nobody could mistake it, but one who 
had the like in his head." 

Page 17. Skoal ! 

In Scandinavia, this is the customary 
salutation when drinking a health. I have 
slightly changed the orthography of the 
word, in order to preserve the correct pro- 
nunciation. 

Page 22. Of three friends all true and 
tried. 

[The three friends were Charles Sum- 
ner, Charles Folsom, and Charles Amory]. 

Page 30. As Lope says. 

" La colera 
de un Espanol sentado no se templa, 
sino le representan en dos horas 
hasta el final juicio desde el Genesis." 

Lope de Vega 

Page 31. Abrenuncio Satanas ! 
" Digo, Sefiora, respondi<5 Sancho, lo 
que tengo dicho, que de los azotes abrenun- 
cio. Abrenuncio, habeis de decir, Sancho, 
y no corao deeis, dijo el Duque." — Don 
Quixote, Part II. ch. 35. 
Page 36. Fray Carrillo. 
The allusion here is to a Spanish epi- 
gram. 

" Siempre Fray Carrillo estas 
cansandonos aca fuera ; 
quien en tu celda estuviera 
para no verte jamas ! " 

Bbhl de Faber. Floresta, No. 611. 

Page 36. Padre Francisco. 

This is from an Italian popular song. 



852 



NOTES 



" ' Padre Francesco, 
Padre Francesco ! ' 
— Cosa volete del Padre Francesco? — 
' V e una bella ragazzina 
Che si vuole confessar ! ' 
Fatte 1' entrare, fatte V entrare ! 
Che la voglio confessare." 
Kopisch. Volksthumliche Poesien aus al- 
ien Mundarten Italiens und seiner In- 
seln, p. 194. 

Page 37. Ave ! cujus calcem dare. 

From a monkish hymn of the twelfth 
century, in Sir Alexander Croke's Essay 
on the Origin, Progress, and Decline of 
Rhyming Latin Verse, p. 109. 

Page 40. The gold of the Busne. 

Busne" is the name given by the Gypsies 
to all who are not of their race. 

Page 41. Count of the Cales. 

The Gypsies call themselves Cal^s. See 
Borrow 's valuable and extremely interest- 
ing work, The Zincali ; or an Account of 
the Gypsies in Spain. London, 1841. 

Page 43. Asks if his money-bags would 
rise. 

"i Y volvi^ndome a un lado, vf a un 
Avariento, que estaba preguntando a otro, 
(que por haber sido embalsamado, y estar 
l^xos sus tripas no hablaba, porque no 
habian llegado si habian de resucitar aquel 
dia todos los enterrados) si resucitarian 
unos bolsones suyos? " — El Sueno de las 
Calaveras. 

Page 43. And amen ! said my Cid the 
Campeador. 

A line from the ancient Poema del Cid. 

" Amen, dixo Mio Cid el Campeador." 

Line 3044. 

Page 44. The river of his thoughts. 
This expression is from Dante : 

*' Si che chiaro 
Per essa scenda della mente il flume." 

Byron has likewise used the expression : 

" She was his life, 
The ocean to the river of his thoughts. 
Which terminated all." 

The Dream. 

Page 44. Mari Franca. 
A common Spanish proverb, used to turn 
aside a question one does not wish to an- 
swer : 

" Porque caso Mari Franca 
quatro leguas de Salamanca." 

Page 45. Ay, soft, emerald eyes. 
The Spaniards, with good reason, con- 
sider this color of the eye as beautiful, and 
celebrate it in song ; as, for example, in 
the well-known Villancico : 
" Ay ojuelos verdes, 
ay los mis ojuelos, 
ay hagan los cielos 
que de mi te acuerdes I 



Tengo confianza 
de mis verdes ojos." 
Bdhl de Faber. Floresta, No. 255 

Dante speaks of Beatrice's eyes as emer- 
alds. Purgatorio, xxxi. 116. Lami says, 
in his Annotazioni, "Erano i suoi occhi d' 
un turchino verdiceio, simile a quel del 
mare." 

Page 46. The Avenging Child. 

See the ancient Ballads of El Infante 
Vengador, and Calaynos. 

Page 46. All are sleeping. 

From the Spanish. Bdhl de Faber. Flo- 
resta, No. 282. 

Page 52. Good night. 

From the Spanish ; as are likewise the 
songs immediately following, and that 
which commences the first scene of Act III. 

Page 60. The evil eye. 

"In the Gitano language, easting the 
evil eye is called Querelar nasula, which 
simply means making sick, and which, ac- 
cording to the common superstition, is 
accomplished by casting an evil look at 
people, especially children, who, from the 
tenderness of their constitution, are sup- 
posed to be more easily blighted than those 
of a more mature age. After receiving the 
evil glance, they fall sick, and die in a few 
hours. 

"The Spaniards have very little to say 
respecting the evil eye, though the belief 
in it is very prevalent, especially in Anda- 
lusia, amongst the lower orders. A stag's 
horn is considered a good safeguard, and 
on that account a small horn, tipped with 
silver, is frequently attached to the chil- 
dren's necks by means of a cord braided 
from the hair of a black mare's tail. Should 
the evil glance be cast, it is imagined that 
the horn receives it, and instantly snaps 
asunder. Such horns may be purchased 
in some of the silversmiths' shops at 
Seville." — Borrow's Zincali, Vol. I. 
ch. ix. 

Page 60. On the top of a mountain 1 
stand. 

This and the following scraps of song 
are from Borrow's Zincali ; or an Account 
of the Gypsies in Spain. 

The Gypsy words in the same scene may 
be thus interpreted : — 

John-Dorados, pieces of gold. 

Pigeon, a simpleton. 

In your morocco, stripped. 

Doves, sheets. 

Moon, a shirt. 

Chirelin, a thief. 

Murcigalleros, those who steal at night- 
fall. 

Rasrilleros, footpads. 

Hermit, highway-robber. 

Planets, candles. 

Commandments, the fingers. 



NOTES 



853 



Saint Martin asleep, to rob a person 
asleep, 

Lanterns, eyes. 

Goblin, police officer. 

Papagayo, a spy. 

Vineyards and Dancing John, to take 
flight. 

Page 64. If thou art sleeping, maiden. 

From the Spanish ; as is likewise the 
song of the Contrabandista on page 65. 

Page 68. All the Foresters of Flan- 
ders. 

The title of Foresters was given to the 
early governors of Flanders, appointed by 
She kings of France. Lyderick du Bucq, 
in the days of Clotaire the Second, was the 
first of them ; and Beaudoin Bras-de-Fer, 
who stole away the fair Judith, daughter 
of Charles the Bald, from the French 
court, and married her in Bruges, was the 
last. After him the title of Forester was 
changed to that of Count. Philippe d'Al- 
sace, Guy de Dampierre, and Louis de 
Cr^cy, coming later in the order of time, 
were therefore rather Counts than Forest- 
ers. Philippe went twice to the Holy 
Land as a Crusader, and died of the plague 
at St. Jean-d'Acre, shortly after the cap- 
ture of the city by the Christians. Guy 
de Dampierre died in the prison of Com- 
piegne. Louis de Cr^cy was son and suc- 
cessor of Robert de B^thune, who strangled 
his wife, Yolande de Bourgogne, with the 
bridle of his horse, for having poisoned, at 
the age of eleven years, Charles, his son 
by his first wife, Blanche d'Anjou. 

Page 68. Stately dames, like queens at- 
tended. 

When Philippe-le-Bel, king of France, 
visited Flanders with his queen, she was 
so astonished at the magnificence of the 
dames of Bruges, that she exclaimed : 
" Je croyais etre seule reine ici, mais il 
parait que ceux de Flandre qui se trouvent 
dans nos prisons sont tous des princes, car 
leurs femmes sont habill^es comme des 
princesses et des reines." 

When the burgomasters of Ghent, Bru- 
ges, and Ypres went to Paris to pay 
homage to King John, in 1351, they were 
received with great pomp and distinction ; 
but, being invited to a festival, they ob- 
served that their seats at table were not 
furnished with cushions ; whereupon, to 
make known their displeasure at this want 
of regard to their dignity, they folded their 
richly embroidered cloaks and seated 
themselves upon them. On rising from 
table, they left their cloaks behind them, 
and, being informed of their apparent for- 
getfulness, Simon van Eertrycke, burgo- 
master of Bruges, replied, tl We Flemings 
are not in the habit of carrying away our 
cushions after dinner." 



Page 68. Knights who bore the Fleece of 
GWtf. t 

Philippe de Bourgogne, surnamed Le 
Bon, espoused Isabella of Portugal on the 
10th of January, 1430 ; and on the same 
day instituted the famous order of the 
Fleece of Gold. 

Page 69. I beheld the gentle Mary. 

Marie de Valois, Duchess of Burgundy, 
was left by the death of her father, 
Charles-le-Tdmeraire, at the age of twenty, 
the richest heiress of Europe. She came 
to Bruges, as Countfess of Flanders, in 
1477, and in the same year was married by 
proxy to the Archduke Maximilian. Ac- 
cording to the custom of the time, the 
Duke of Bavaria, Maximilian's substitute, 
slept with the princess. They were both 
in complete dress, separated by a naked 
sword, and attended by four armed guards. 
Marie was adored by her subjects for her 
gentleness and her many other virtues. 

Maximilian was son of the Emperor 
Frederick the Third, and is the same per- 
son mentioned afterwards in the poem of 
Nuremberg as the Kaiser Maximilian, and 
the hero of Pfinzing's poem of Teuerdank. 
Having been imprisoned by the revolted 
burghers of Bruges, they refused to release 
him, till he consented to kneel in the pub- 
lic square, and to swear on the Holy Evan- 
gelists and the body of Saint Donatus, that 
he would not take vengeance upon them 
for their rebellion. 

Page 69. The bloody battle of the Spurs 
of Gold. 

This battle, the most memorable in 
Flemish history, was fought under the 
walls of Courtray, on the 11th of July, 
1302, between the French and the Flem- 
ings, the former commanded by Robert, 
Comte d'Artois, and the latter by Guil- 
laume de Juliers, and Jean, Comte de 
Namur. The French army was completely 
routed, with a loss of twenty thousand in- 
fantry and seven thousand cavalry ; among 
whom were sixty-three princes, dukes, and 
counts, seven hundred lords-banneret, and 
eleven hundred noblemen. The flower of 
the French nobility perished on that day, 
to which history has given the name of the 
Journee des Eperons d'Or, from the great 
number of golden spurs found on the field 
of battle. Seven hundred of them were 
hung up as a trophy in the church of No- 
tre Dame de Courtray ; and, as the cava- 
liers of that day wore but a single spur 
each, these vouched to God for the violent 
and bloody death of seven hundred of his 
creatures. 

Page 69. Saw the fight at Minnewater. 

When the inhabitants of Bruges were 
digging a canal at Minnewater, to bring 
the waters of the Lys from Deynze to their 



854 



NOTES 



city, they were attacked and routed by the 
citizens of Ghent, whose commerce would 
have been much injured by the canal. 
They were led by Jean Lyons, captain of 
a military company at Ghent, called the 
Chaperons Blancs. He had great sway 
over the turbulent populace, who, in those 
prosperous times of the city, gained an 
easy livelihood by laboring two or three 
days in the week, and had the remaining 
four or five to devote to public affairs. 
The fight at Minnewater was followed by 
open rebellion agains't Louis de Maele, the 
Count of Flanders andProtector of Bruges. 
His superb chateau of Wondelghem was 
pillaged and burnt ; and the insurgents 
forced the gates of Bruges, and entered in 
triumph, with Lyons mounted at their 
head. A few days afterwards he died sud- 
denly, perhaps by poison. 

Meanwhile the insurgents received a 
check at the village of Nevele ; and two 
hundred of them perished in the church, 
which was burned by the Count's orders. 
One of the chiefs, Jean de Lannoy, took 
refuge in the belfry. From the summit of 
the tower he held forth his purse filled 
with gold, and begged for deliverance. It 
was in vain. His enemies cried to him 
from below to save himself as best he 
might ; and, half suffocated with smoke 
and flame, he threw himself from the tow- 
er and perished at their feet. Peace was 
soon afterwards established, and the Count 
retired to faithful Bruges. 

Page 69. The Golden Dragon's nest. 

The Golden Dragon, taken from the 
church of St. Sophia, at Constantinople, in 
one of the Crusades, and placed on the 
belfry of Bruges, was afterwards trans- 
ported to Ghent by Philip van Artevelde, 
and still adorns the belfry of that city. 

The inscription on the alarm-bell at 
Ghent is, " Mynen naem is Roland; als 
ik Iclep is er brand, and als ik luy is er 
victorie in het land.''' 1 My name is Roland ; 
when I toll there is fire, and when I ring 
there is victory in the land. 

Page 71. That their great imperial city 
stretched its hand through every clime. 

An old popular proverb of the town runs 
thus : — 

" Nilrnberg , s Hand 
Geht durch alle Land." 

Nuremberg's hand 
Goes through every land. 

Page 71. Sat the poet Melchior singing 
Kaiser Maximilian's praise. 

Melchior Pfinzing was one of the most 
celebrated German poets of the sixteenth 
century. The hero of his Teuerdank was 
the reigning emperor, Maximilian ; . and 
the poem was to the Germans of that day 



what the Orlando Furioso was to the Ital- 
ians. Maximilian is mentioned before, in 
the Belfry of Bruges. See p. 69. 

Page 71. In the church of sainted Sebald 
sleeps enshrined his holy dust. 

The tomb of Saint Sebald, in the church 
which bears his name, is one of the rich- 
est works of art in Nuremberg. It is of 
bronze, and was cast by Peter Vischer and 
his sons, who labored upon it thirteen 
years. It is adorned with nearly one 
hundred figures, among which those of the 
Twelve Apostles are conspicuous for size 
and beauty. 

Page 71. In the church of sainted Law- 
rence stands a pyx of sculpture rare. 

This pyx, or tabernacle for the vessels of 
the sacrament, is by the hand of Adam 
Kraft. It is an exquisite piece of sculp- 
ture in white stone,. and rises to the height 
of sixty-four feet. It stands in the choir, 
whose richly painted windows cover it 
with varied colors. 

Page 72. Wisest of the Twelve Wise 
Masters. 

The Twelve Wise Masters was the title 
of the original corporation of the Master- 
singers. Hans Sachs, the cobbler of Nu- 
remberg, though not one of the original 
Twelve, was the most renowned of the 
Mastersingers, as well as the most volumi- 
nous. He flourished in the sixteenth cen- 
tury ; and left behind him thirty-four folio 
volumes of manuscript, containing two 
hundred and eight plays, one thousand 
and seven hundred comic tales, and be- 
tween four and five thousand lyric poems. 

Page 72. As in Adam Puschman' 's 
song. 

Adam Puschman, in his poem on the 
death of Hans Sachs, describes him as he 
appeared in a vision : — 

" An old man, 
Gray and white, and dove-like, 
Who had, in sooth, a great beard, 
And read in a fair, great book, 
Beautiful with golden clasps." 

Page 77. The Occultation of Orion. 

Astronomically speaking, this title is 
incorrect ; as I apply to a constellation 
what can properly be applied to some of 
its stars only. But my observation is 
made from the hill of song, and not from 
that of science ; and will, I trust, be found 
sufficiently accurate for the present pur- 
pose. 

Page 78. The Bkidge. 

[At first localized as The Bridge over 
the Charles.] 

Page 79. Who, unharmed, on his tusks, 
once caught the bolts of the thunder. 

" A delegation of warriors from the Del- 
aware tribe having visited the governor of 
Virginia, during the Revolution, on mat- 



NOTES 



%SS 



ters of business, after these had been dis- 
cussed and settled in council, the governor 
asked them some questions relative to 
their country, and among others, "what 
they knew or had heard of the animal 
•whose bones were found at the Saltlicks 
on the Ohio. Their chief speaker immedi- 
ately put himself into an attitude of ora- 
tory, and with a pomp suited to what he 
conceived the elevation of his subject, in- 
formed him that it was a tradition handed 
down from their fathers, ' that in ancient 
times a herd of these tremendous animals 
came to the Big-bone licks, and began an 
universal destruction of the bear, deer, 
elks, buffaloes, and other animals which 
had been created for the use of the Indi- 
ans: that the Great Man above, looking 
down and seeing this, was so enraged that 
he seized his lightning, descended on the 
earth, seated himself on a neighboring 
mountain, on a rock of which his seat and 
the print of his feet are still to be seen, and 
hurled his bolts among them till the whole 
were slaughtered, except the big bull, who, 
presenting his forehead to the shafts, shook 
them off as they fell ; but missing one at 
length, it wounded him in the side ; where- 
on, springing round, he bounded over the 
Ohio, over the Wabash, the Illinois, and 
finally over the great lakes, where he is 
living at this day.' " — Jefferson's 
Notes on Virginia, Query VI. 

Page 81. Walter von der Vogelweid. 

Walter von der Vogelweid, or Bird- 
Meadow, was one of the principal Minne- 
singers of the thirteenth century. He 
triumphed over Heinrich von Ofterdingen 
in that poetic contest at Wartburg Castle. 
known in literary history as the War of 
Wartburg. 

Page 82. Stands the old-fashioned coun- 
try-seat. 

[The Gold house in Pittsfield, Massachu- 
setts, the homestead of Mrs. Longfellow's 
maternal grandfather.] 

Page !*'4. Like imperial Charlemagne. 

Charlemagne may be called by preemi- 
nence the monarch of farmers. According 
to the German tradition, in seasons of great 
abundance, his spirit crosses the Rhine, on 
a golden bridge at Bingen, and blesses the 
cornfields and the vineyards. During his 
lifetime, he did not disdain, says Montes- 
quieu, "to sell the eggs from the farm- 
yards of his domains, and the superfluous 
vegetables of his gardens ; while he dis- 
tributed among his people the wealth of 
the Lombards and the immense treasures 
of the Huns." 

Page 90. " Sunshine of Saint Eulalie " 
was she called. 

" Si le soleil rit le jour Sainte-Eulalie 
II y aura pommes et cidre a folic" 

Pujquet in Wright, I. 131. 



Page 91. Flashed like a plane -tree the 
Persian adorned with mantles and jewels. 

See Evelyn's Silva, II. 53. [The story 
runs back to Herodotus, VII. 31, the 
" Persian " being Xerxes.] 

Page 105. Thou art too fair to be left to 
braid St. Catherine 's tresses. 

There is a Norman saying of a maid who 
does not marry — Elle r ester a pour coiffer 
Sainte Eatherine. 

Page 127. 

Behold, at last, 

Each tall and tapering mast 

Is swung into its place. 

I wish to anticipate a criticism on this 
passage, by stating, that sometimes, though 
not usually, vessels are launched fully 
sparred and rigged. I have availed myself 
of the exception as better suited to my 
purposes than the general rule ; but the 
reader will see that it is neither a blunder 
nor a poetic license. On this subject a 
friend in Portland, Maine, writes me 
thus : — 

"In this State, and also, I am told, in 
New York, ships are sometimes rigged 
upon the stocks, in order to save time, or 
to make a show. There was a fine large 
ship launched last summer at Ellsworth, 
fully sparred and rigged. Some years ago 
a ship was launched here, with her rigging, 
spars, sails, and cargo aboard. She sailed 
the next, day and — was never heard of 
again ! I hope this will not be the fate of 
your poem ! " 

Page 131. Sir Humphrey Gilbert. 

"When the wind abated and the vessels 
were near enough, the Admiral was seen 
constantly sitting in the stern, with a book 
in his hand. On the 9th of September he 
was seen for the last time, and was heard 
by the people of the Hind to say, ' We are 
as near heaven by sea as bv land.' In the 
following night, the lights of the ship sud- 
denly disappeared. The people in the other 
vessel kept a good lookout for him during 
the remainder of the voyage. On the 22d 
of September they arrived, through much 
tempest and peril, at Falmouth. But no- 
thing more was seen or heard of the Admi- 
ral." — Belknap's American Biography, 
I. 203. 

Page 133. Resignation. 

[Written after the death of the poet's 
little daughter Fanny.] 

These severe afflictions 
Not from the ground arise. 

" Although affliction cometh not forth 
of the dust, neither doth trouble spring 
out of the ground." — Job v. (>. 

Page 140. The Song of Hiawatha. 

This Indian Edda — if I may so call it — 
is founded on a tradition prevalent among 
the North American Indians, of a person- 



856 



NOTES 



age of miraculous birth, who was sent 
among them to clear their rivers, forests, 
and fishing-grounds, and to teach them 
the arts of peace. He was known among 
different tribes by the several names of 
Michabou, Chiabo, Manabozo, Tarenya- 
wagon, and Hiawatha. Mr. Schoolcraft 
gives an account of him in his Algic Re- 
searches, Vol. 1. p. 134 ; and in his His- 
tory, Condition, and Prospects of the In- 
dian Tribes of the United States, Part III. 
p. 314, may be found the Iroquois form of 
the tradition, derived from the verbal nar- 
rations of an Onondaga chief. 

Into this old tradition I have woven 
other curious Indian legends, drawn chiefly 
from the various and valuable writings of 
Mr. Schoolcraft, to whom the literary 
world is greatly indebted for his indefati- 
gable zeal in rescuing from oblivion so 
much of the legendary lore of the Indians. 

The scene of the poem is among the 
jib ways on the southern shore of Lake 
Superior, in the region between the Pic- 
tured Rocks and the Grand Sable. 

VOCABULARY. 

Adjidau'mo, the red squirrel. 

Ahdeek', the reindeer. 

Ahkose'win, fever. 

Ahmeek', the beaver. 

Algon'quin, Ojibway. 

Annemee'kee, the thunder. 

Apuk'wa, a bulrush. 

Baim-wa'wa, the sound of the thunder. 

Bemah'gut, the grapevine. 

Be'na, the pheasant. 

Big-Sea-Water, Lake Superior. 

Bukada'win, famine. 

Cheemaun', a bii'ch canoe. 

Chetowaik', the plover. 

Chibia'bos, a musician; friend of Hiawatha; 
ruler in the Land of Spirits. 

Dahin'da, the bull-frog. 

Dush-kwo-ne'she, or Kwo-ne'she, the dragon-fly. 

Esa, shame upon you. 

Ewa-yea', lullaby. 

Ghee'zis, the sun. 

Gitche Gu'mee, the Big-Sea-Water, Lake Supe- 
rior. 

Gitche Man'ito, the Great Spirit, the Master of 
Life. 

Gushkewau', the darkness. 

Hiawa'tha, the Wise Man, the Teacher; son of 
Mudjekeewis, the West-Wind, and Wenonah, 
daughter of Nokomis. 

Ia'goo, a great boaster and story-teller. 

Inin'ewug, men, or pawns in the Game of the 
Bowl. 

Ishkoodah', fire ; a comet. 

Jee'bi, a ghost, a spirit. 

Joss'akeed, a prophet. 

Kabibonok'ka, the North-Wind. 

Kagh, the hedge-hog. 

Ka'go, do not. 

Kahgahgee', the raven. 

Kaw, no. 

Kaween', no indeed. 

Kayoshk', the sea-gull. 

Kee'go, a fish. 



Keeway'din, the Northwest-Wind, the Home- 
wind. 

Kena'beek, a serpent. 

Keneu', the great war-eagle. 

Keno'zha , the pickerel. 

Ko'ko-ko'ho, the owl. 

Kuntasoo', the Game of Plum-stones. 

Kwa'sind, the Strong Man. 

Kwo-ne'she, or Dush-kwo-ne'she, the dragon- 
fly- 

Mahnahbe'zee, the swan. 

Mahng, the loon. 

Mahn-go-tay'.see. loon-hearted, brave. 

Mahnomo'nee, wild rice. 

Ma'ma, the woodpecker. 

Maskeno'zha, the pike. 

Me'da, a medicine-man. 

Meenah'ga, the blueberry. 

Megissog'won, the great Pearl-Feather, a magi- 
cian, and the Manito of Wealth. 

Meshinau'wa, a pipe-bearer. 

Minjekah'wun, Hiawatha's mittens. 

Minneha'ha, Laughing Water; a water-fall on, 
a stream running into the Mississippi, between 
Fort Snelling and the Falls of St. Anthony. 

Minneha'ha, Laughing Water ; wife of Hiawa- 
tha. 

Minne-wa'wa, a pleasant sound as of the wind in 
the trees. 

Mishe-Mo'kwa, the Great Bear. 

Mishe-Nah'ma, the Great Sturgeon. 

Miskodeed', the Spring-Beauty, the Claytonia 
Virginica. 

Monda'min, Lndian com. 

Moon of Bright Nights, April. 

Moon of Leaves, May. 

Moon of Strawberries, June. 

Moon of the Falling Leaves, September. 

Moon of Snow-Shoes, November. 

Mudjekee'wis, the West- Wind ; father of Hia- 
watha. 

Mudway-aush'ka, sound of waves on a shore. 

Mushkoda'sa, the grouse. 

Nah'ma, the sturgeon. 

Nah'ma-wusk, spearmint. 

Na'gow Wud'joo, the Sand Dunes of Lake Su- 
perior. 

Nee-ba-naw'baigs, water spirits. 

Nenemoo'sha, sweetheart. 

Nepah'win, sleep. 

Noko'mis, a grandmother ; mother of Wenonah. 

No'sa, my father. 

Nush'ka, look! look! 

Odah'min, the strawberry. 

Okahah/wis, the fresh-water herring. 

Ome'me, the pigeon. 

Ona'gon, a bowl. 

Onaway', awake. 

Ope'chee, the robin. 

Osse'o, Son of the Evening Star. 

Owais'sa, the bluebird. 

Oweenee', wife of Osseo. 

Ozawa'beek, a round piece of brass or copper in 
the Game of the Bowl. 

Pah-puk-kee'na, the grasshopper. 

Pau'guk, death. 

Pau-Puk-Kee'wis, the handsome Yenadizze, the 
Storm Fool. 

Pauwa'ting, Sault Sainte Marie. 

Pe'boan, winter. 

Pem'ican, meat of the deer or buffalo dried and 
pounded. 

Pezhekee', the bison. 

Pishnekuh', the brant. 



NOTES 



857 



Fone'uiah, hereafter. 

Pugasaing', Game of the Bowl. 

Puggawau'gun, a war-club. 

Puk-Wudj'ies, Utile wild men of the woods ; pyg- 
mies. 

Sah-sah-je'wun, rapids. 

Sah'wa, the perch. 

Segwun', Spring. 

Sha'da, the pelican. 

Shahbo'min, the gooseberry. 

Shah-shah, long ago. 

Shaugoda'ya, a coward. 

.Shawgashee', the craw-fish. 

Shawonda'see, the South r Wind. 

Shaw-shaw, the swallow. 

Shesh'ebwug, ducks ; pieces in the Game of the 
Bowl. 

Shin'gebis, the diver or grebe. 

Showain' neme'shin, pity me. 

Shuh-shuh'gah, the blue heron. 

Soan-ge-ta'ha, strong hearted. 

Subbeka'she, the spider. 

Sugge'ma, the mosquito. 

To'tem, family coat-of-arms. 

Ugh, yes. 

Ugudwash', the sun-fish. 

Unktahee', the God of Water. 

Wabas'so, the rabbit ; the North. 

Wabe'no, a magician, a juggler. 

Wabe'no-wusk, yarrow. 

Watnin, the East-Wind. 

Wa'bun An'nuug, the Star of the East, the Morn- 
ing Star. 

Wahono'win, a cry of lamentation. 

Wah-wah-tay'see, the fire-fly. 

Wam'pum, beads of shell. 

Waubewy'on, a while skin wrapper. 

Wa'wa, the ivild-goose. 

Waw'beek, a rock. 

Waw-be-vva'vva, the white goose. 

Wawonais'sa, the whippoorwill. 

Way-muk-kwua'na, the caterpillar. 

WenMigoes, giants. 

Weno'nah, Hiawatha^s mother, daughter of No- 
komis. 

Yenadiz'ze, an idler and gambler ; an Indian 
dandy. 

Page 141. In the Vale of Tawasentha. 

This valley, now called Norman's Kill, 
is in Albany County, New York. 

Page 142. On the Mountains of the 
Prairie. 

Mr. Catlin, in his Letters and Notes on 
the Manners, Customs, and Condition of 
the North American Indians, Vol. II. p. 
160, gives an interesting account of the 
Cbteau des Prairies, and the Red Pipe- 
stone Quarry. He says : — 

"Here (according to their traditions) 
happened the mysterious birth of the red 
pipe, which has blown its fumes of peace 
and war to the remotest corners of the 
continent ; which has visited every war- 
rior, and passed through its reddened stem 
the irrevocable oath of war and desolation. 
And here, also, the peace-breathing calu- 
met was born, and fringed with the eagle's 
quills, which has shed its thrilling fumes 
over the land, and soothed the fury of the 
relentless savage. 



"The Great Spirit at an ancient period 
here called the Indian nations together, 
and, standing on the precipice of the Red 
pipe-stone rock, broke from its wall a 
piece, and made a huge pipe by turning it 
in his hand, which he smoked over them, 
and to the North, the South, the East, and 
the West, and told them that this stone 
was red, — that it was their flesh, — that 
they must use it for their pipes of peace, — 
that it belonged to them all, and that the 
war-club and scalping-knife must not be 
raised on its ground. At the last whiff of 
his pipe his head went into a great cloud, 
and the whole surface of the rock for sev- 
eral miles was melted and glazed ; two 
great ovens were opened beneath, and two 
women (guardian spirits of the place) en- 
tered them in a blaze of fire ; and they are 
heard there yet (Tso-mec-cos-tee and Tso- 
me-cos-te-won-dee), answering to the invo- 
cations of the high-priests or medicine- 
men, who consult them when they are 
visitors to this sacred place." 

Page 144. Hark you, Bear ! you are 
a coward. 

This anecdote is from Heckewelder. In 
his account of the Indian Nations, he de- 
scribes an Indian hunter as addressing a 
bear in nearly these words. " I was pres- 
ent," he says, "at the delivery of this 
curious invective ; when the hunter had 
despatched the bear, I asked him how 
he thought that poor animal could under- 
stand what he said to it. ' 0,' said he in 
answer, ' the bear understood me very 
well ; did you not observe how ashamed 
he looked while I was upbraiding him ? "' 
— Transactions of the American Philosoph- 
ical Society, Vol. I. p. 240. 

Page 148. Hush I the Naked Bear will 
hear thee ! 

Heckewelder, in a letter published in 
the Transactions of the American Philo- 
sophical Society, Vol. IV. p. 260, speaks 
of this tradition as prevalent among the 
Mohicans and Delawares. 

"Their reports," he says, "run thus: 
that among all animals that had been for- 
merly in this country, this was the most 
ferocious ; that it was much larger than 
the largest of the common bears, and re- 
markably long-bodied ; all over (except a 
spot of hair on its back of a white color) 
naked. . . . 

" The history of this animal used to be a 
subject of conversation among the Indians, 
especially when in the woods a hunting. 
I have also heard them say to their chil- 
dren when crying : ' Hush ! the naked 
bear will hear you, be upon you, and de- 
vour you ! " 

Page 152. Where the Falls of Minne- 
haha, etc. 



8 5 8 



NOTES 



" The scenery about Fort Snelling is rich 
in beauty. The Falls of St. Anthony are 
familiar to travellers, and to readers of 
Indian sketches. Between the fort and 
these falls are the ' Little Falls,' forty feet 
in height, on a stream that empties into 
the Mississippi. The Indians called them 
Mine-hah-hah, or ' Laughing waters.' " — 
Mrs. Eastman's Dacotah, or Legends of 
the Sioux, Introd., p. ii. 

Page 169. Sand Hills of the Nagow 
Wudjoo. 

A description of the Grand Sable, or 
great sand-dunes of Lake Superior, is given 
in Foster and Whitney's Report on the Ge- 
ology of the Lake Superior Land District, 
Part II. p. 131. 

" The Grand Sable possesses a scenic in- 
terest little inferior to that of the Pictured 
Rocks. The explorer passes abruptly from 
a coast of consolidated sand to one of loose 
materials ; and although in the one case 
the cliffs are less precipitous, yet in the 
other they attain a higher altitude. He 
sees before him a long reach of coast, re- 
sembling a vast sand-bank, more than 
three hundred and fifty feet in height, 
without a trace of vegetation. Ascending 
to the top, rounded hillocks of blown sand 
are observed, with occasional clumps of 
trees, standing out like oases in the 
desert." 

Page 169. Onaway ! Awake, beloved ! 

The original of this song may be found 
in Littell's Living Age, Vol. XXV. p. 45. 

Page 170. Or the Red Swan floating, 
/lying. 

The fanciful tradition of the Red Swan 
may be found in Schoolcraft's Algic Re- 
searches, Vol. II. p. 9. Three brothers 
were hunting on a wager to see who would 
bring home the first game. 

" They were to shoot no other animal," 
so the legend says, " but such as each was 
in the habit of killing. They set out dif- 
ferent ways : Odjibwa, the youngest, had 
not gone far before he saw a bear, an ani- 
mal he was not to kill, by the agreement. 
He followed him close, and drove an arrow 
through him, which brought him to the 
ground. Although contrary to the bet, he 
immediately commenced skinning him, 
when suddenly something red tinged all 
the air around him. He rubbed his eyes, 
thinking he was perhaps deceived ; but 
without effect, for the red hue continued. 
At length he heard a strange noise at a 
distance. It first appeared like a human 
voice, but after following the sound for 
some distance, he reached the shores of a 
lake, and soon saw the object he was look- 
ing for. At a distance out in the lake sat 
a most beautiful Red Swan, whose plum- 
age glittered in the sun, and who would 



now and then make the same noise he had 
heard. He was within long bow-shot, and, 
pulling the arrow from the bowstring up 
to his ear, took deliberate aim and shot. 
The arrow took no effect ; and he shot and 
shot again till his quiver was empty. Still 
the swan remained, moving round and 
round, stretching its long neck and dipping 
its bill into the water, as if heedless of 
the arrows shot at it. Odjibwa ran home, 
and got all his own and his brother's 
arrows, and shot them all away. He then 
stood and gazed at the beautiful bird. 
While standing, he remembered his bro- 
ther's saying that in their deceased father's 
medicine-sack were three magic arrows. 
Off he started, his anxiety to kill the swan 
overcoming all scruples. At any other 
time, he would have deemed it sacrilege 
to open his father's medicine-sack ; but 
now he hastily seized the three arrows 
and ran back, leaving the other contents 
of the sack scattered over the lodge. The 
swan was still there. He shot the first 
arrow with great precision, and came very 
near to it. The second came still closer ; 
as he took the last arrow, he felt his arm 
firmer, and, drawing it up with vigor, saw 
it pass through the neck of the swan a 
little above the breast. Still it did not 
prevent the bird from flying off, which it 
did, however, at first slowly, flapping its 
wings and rising gradually into the air, 
and then flying off toward the sinking of 
the sun." — pp. 10-12. 

Page 174. When I think of my beloved. 

The original of this song may be found 
in Onedta, p. 15. 

Page 175. Sing the mysteries of Mon- 
damin. 

The Indians hold the maize, or Indian 
corn, in great veneration. " They esteem 
it so important and divine a grain," says 
Schoolcraft, " that their story-tellers in- 
vented various tales, in which this idea is 
symbolized under the form of a special gift 
from the Great Spirit. The Odjibwa-Al- 
gonquins, who call it Mon-da-min, that is, 
the Spirit's grain or berry, have a pretty 
story of this kind, in which the stalk in 
full tassel is represented as descending 
from the sky, under the guise of a hand- 
some youth, in answer to the prayers of a 
young man at his fast of virility, or com- 
ing to manhood. 

"It is well known that corn-planting 
and corn-gathering, at least among all the 
still uncolonized tribes, are left entirely to 
the females and children, and a few super- 
annuated old men. It is not generally 
known, perhaps, that this labor is not 
compulsory, and that it is assumed by the 
females as a just equivalent, in their view, 
for the onerous and continuous labor of 



NOTES 



859 



the other sex, in providing meats, and 
skins for clothing-, by the chase, and in 
defending their villages against their ene- 
mies, and keeping intruders off their terri- 
tories. A good Indian housewife deems 
this a part of her prerogative, and prides 
herself to have a store of corn to exercise 
her hospitality, or duly honor her hus- 
band's hospitality, in the entertainment of 
the lodge guests." — Oneo'ta, p. 82. 

Page 175. Thus the fields shall be more 
fruitful. 

" A singular proof of this belief, in both 
sexes, of the mysterious influence of the 
steps of a woman on the vegetable and in- 
sect creation, is found in an ancient cus- 
tom, which was related to me, respecting 
corn-planting. It was the practice of the 
hunter's wife, when the field of corn had 
been planted, to choose the first dark or 
overclouded evening to perform a secret 
circuit, sans habillement, around the field. 
For this purpose she slipped out of the 
lodge in the evening, unobserved, to some 
obscure nook, where she completely dis- 
robed. Then, taking her matchecota, or 
principal garment, in one hand, she dragged 
it around the field. This was thought to 
insure a prolific crop, and to prevent the 
assaults of insects and worms upon the 
grain. It was supposed they could not 
creep over the charmed line." — Onedta, 
p. 83. 

Page 176. With his prisoner-string he 
bound him. 

"These cords," says Mr. Tanner, "are 
made of the bark of the elm-tree, by boil- 
ing and then immersing it in cold water. 
. . . The leader of a war party com- 
monly carries several fastened about his 
waist, and if, in the course of the fight, 
any one of his young men takes a prisoner, 
it is his duty to bring him immediately to 
the chief, to be tied, and the latter is re- 
sponsible for his safe keeping." — .Nar- 
rative of Captivity and Adventures, p. 412. 

Page 177. 

Wagemin. the thief of cornfields, 

Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear. 

" If one of the young female huskers 
finds a red ear of corn, it is typical of a 
brave admirer, and is regarded as a fitting 
present to some young warrior. But if the 
ear be crooked, and tapering to a point, no 
matter what color, the whole circle is set 
in a roar, and wa-ge-min is the word 
shouted aloud. It is the symbol of a thief 
in the cornfield. It is considered as the 
image of an old man stooping as he enters 
the lot. Had the chisel of Praxiteles been 
employed to produce this image, it could 
not more vividly bring to the minds of the 



merry group the idea of a pilferer of their 
favorite mondamin. . . . 

"The literal meaning of the term is, a 
mass, or crooked ear of grain ; but the ear 
of corn so called is a conventional type of a 
little old man pilfering ears of corn in a 
cornfield. It is in this manner that a sin- 
gle word or term, in these curious lan- 
guages, becomes the fruitful parent of 
many ideas. And we can thus perceive 
why it is that the word wagemin is alone 
competent to excite merriment in the husk- 
ing circle. 

.' This term is taken as the basis of the 
cereal chorus, or corn song, as sung by the 
Northern Algonquin tribes. It is coupled 
with the phrase Paimosaid, — a permuta- 
tive form of the Indian substantive, made 
from the verb pim-o-sa, to walk. Its lit- 
eral meaning is, he who walks, or the 
walker ; but the ideas conveyed by it are, 
he who walks by night to pilfer corn. It 
offers, therefore, a kind of parallelism in 
expression to the preceding term." — One- 
dta, p. 254. 

Page 182. Pugasaing, with thirteen 
pieces. 

This Game of the Bowl is the principal 
game of hazard among the Northern tribes 
of Indians. Mr. Schoolcraft gives a par- 
ticular account of it in Onedta, p. 85. 
" This game," he says, " is very fascinat- 
ing to some portions of the Indians. They 
stake at it their ornaments, weapons, 
clothing, canoes, horses, everything in fact 
they possess ; and have been known, it is 
said, to set up their wives and children, 
and even to forfeit their own liberty. Of 
such desperate stakes I have seen no ex- 
amples, nor do I think the game itself in 
common use. It is rather confined to eer- 
tain persons, who hold the relative rank of 
gamblers in Indian society, — men who 
are not noted as hunters or warriors, or 
steady providers for their families. Among 
these are persons who bear the term of 
Ienadizze-wug, that is, wanderers about 
the country, braggadocios, or fops. It can 
hardly be classed with the poptdar games 
of amusement, by which skill and dexter- 
ity are acquired. I have generally found 
the chiefs and graver men of the tribes, 
who encouraged the young men to play 
ball, and are siire to be present at the cus- 
tomary sports, to witness, and sanction, 
and applaud them, speak lightly and dis- 
paragingly of this frame of hazard. Yet it 
cannot be denied that some of the chiefs, 
distinguished in war and the chase, at the 
West, can be referred to as lending their 
example to its fascinating power." 

See also his History. Condition, and 
Prospects of the Indian Tribes, Part II. p. 
72. 



86o 



NOTES 



Page 188. To the Pictured Rocks of 
sandstone. 

The reader will find a long description 
of the Pictured Rocks in Foster and Whit- 
ney's Report on the Geology of the Lake 
Superior Land District, Part II. p. 124. 
From this I make the following ex- 
tract : — 

"The Pictured Rocks may he described, 
in general terms, as a series of sandstone 
bluffs extending along the shore of Lake 
Superior for about five miles, and rising, 
in most places, vertically from the water, 
without any beach at the base, to a height 
varying from fifty to nearly two hundred 
feet. Were they simply a line of cliffs, 
they might not, so far as relates to height 
or extent, be worthy of a rank among great 
natural curiosities, although such an as- 
semblage of rocky strata, washed by the 
waves of the great lake, would not, under 
any circumstances, be destitute of gran- 
deur. To the voyager, coasting along their 
base in his frail canoe, they would, at all 
times, be an object of dread ; the recoil of 
the surf, the rock-bound coast, affording, 
for miles, no place of refuge, — the lower- 
ing sky, the rising wind, — all these would 
excite his apprehension, and induce him 
to ply a vigorous oar until the dreaded 
wall was passed. But in the Pictured 
Rocks there are two features which com- 
municate to the scenery a wonderful and 
almost unique character. These are, first, 
the curious manner in which the cliffs 
have been excavated and worn away by 
the action of the lake, which, for centuries, 
has dashed an ocean-like surf against their 
base; and, second, the equally curious 
manner in which large portions of the sur- 
face have been colored by bands of bril- 
liant hues. 

" It is from the latter circumstance that 
the name, by which these cliffs are known 
to the American traveller, is derived ; 
while that applied to them by the French 
voyageurs (' Les Portails ') is derived from 
the former, and by far the most striking 
peculiarity. 

" The term Pictured Rocks has been in 
use for a great length of time ; but when it 
was first applied, we have been unable to 
discover. It would seem that the first 
travellers were more impressed with the 
novel and striking distribution of colors on 
the surface than with the astonishing va- 
riety of form into which the cliffs them- 
selves have been worn. . . . 

" Our voyageurs had many legends to 
relate of the pranks of the Menni-bojou in 
these caverns, and, in answer to our inquir- 
ies, seemed disposed to fabricate stories, 
without end, of the achievements of this 
Indian deity." 



Page 198. Toward the sun his hands 
were lifted. 

In this manner, and with such saluta- 
tions, was Father Marquette received by 
the Illinois. See his Voyages et Decou- 
vertes, Section V. 

Page 203. Full of the name and the fame 
of the Puritan maiden Priscilla. 

[ Among the nam es of the Mayflo wer com- 
pany are those of "Mr. William Mullines 
and his wife, and 2 children, Joseph and' 
Priscila ; and a servant, Robart Carter."] 

Page 204. She is alone in the world. 

["Mr. Molines, and his wife, his sone 
and his servant, dyed the first winter. 
Only his daughter Priscila survived and 
married with John Alden, who are both 
living and have 11 children." — Bradford: 
History of Plymouth Plantation.] 

Page 206. Gathering still, as he went, 
the Mayflowers blooming around him. 

[The Mayflower is the well-known Epi- 
gcea repens, sometimes also called the 
Trailing Arbutus. The name Mayflower 
was familiar in England, as the applica- 
tion of it to the historic vessel shows, but 
it was applied by the English, and still is, 
to the hawthorn. Its use here in connec- 
tion with Epigaa repens dates from a very 
early day, some claiming that the first Pil- 
grims so used it, in affectionate memory 
of the vessel and its English flower associ- 
ation.] 

Page 214. With Stephen and Richard 
and Gilbert. 

[These names are not taken at random. 
Stephen Hopkins, Richard Warren, and 
Gilbert Winslow were all among the May- 
flower passengers, and were alive at this 
time.] 

Page 224. After the Puritan way, and 
the laudable custom of Holland. 

[" May 12 was the first marriage in this 
place, which, according to the laudable 
custome of the Low-Cuntries, in which 
they had lived, was thought most requisite 
to be performed by the magistrate, as 
being a civill thing, upon which many ques- 
tions aboute inheritances doe depende, 
with other things most proper to their 
cognizans, and most consonante to the 
scripturs, Ruth 4, and no wher found in 
the gospell to be layed on the ministers as a 
part of their office. "^ — Bradford: History 
of Plymouth Plantation^ p. 101.] 

Page 230. 

That of our vices we can frame 
A ladder. 

The words of St. Augustine are, — " De 
vitiis nostris scalam nobis facimus, si vitia 
ipsa calcamus." 

Sermon III. De Ascensione. 

Page 230. The Phantom Ship. 



NOTES 



86 1 



A detailed account of this "apparition 
of a Ship in the Air " is given by Cotton 
Mather in his Magnalia Christi, Book I. 
Ch. VI. It is contained in a letter from 
the Rev. James Pierpont, Pastor of New 
Haven. To this account Mather adds 
these words : — 

" Reader, there being yet living so many 
credible gentlemen that were eyewitnesses 
of this wonderful thing, I venture to pub- 
lish it for a thing as undoubted as 't is 
wonderful." 

Page 231. The Warden of the 
Cinque Ports. 

[Written in October, 1852. The War- 
den was the Duke of Wellington, who died 
September 13.] 

Page 233. And the Emperor but a Ma- 
cho. 

Macho, in Spanish, signifies a mule. 
Golondrina is the feminine form of Golon- 
drino* a swallow, and also a cant name for 
a deserter. 

Page 234. The Two Angels. 

[Written at the time of the birth of one 
of the poet's daughters, and the death 
of the wife of his friend, James Russell 
Lowell.] 

Page 236. Oliver Basselin. 

Oliver Basselin, the " Pere joyeux du 
Vaudeville.'''' flourished in the fifteenth 
century, and gave to his convivial songs 
the name of his native valleys, in which he 
sang them, Vaux-de- Vire. This name was 
afterwards corrupted into the modern 
Vaudeville. 

Page 237. Victor Galbraith. 

This poem is founded on fact. Victor 
Galbraith was a bugler in a company of 
volunteer cavalry, and was shot in Mexico 
for some breach of discipline. It is a com- 
mon superstition among soldiers, that no 
balls will kill them unless their names are 
written on them. The old proverb says, 
" Every bullet has its billet." 

Page 239. I remember the sea-fight far 
away. 

This was the engagement between the 
Enterprise and the Boxer, off the harbor 
of Portland, in which both captains were 
slain. They were buried side by side, in 
the cemetery on Mountjoy. 

Page 242. Santa Filomena. 

" At Pisa the church of San Francisco 
contains a chapel dedicated lately to Santa 
Filomena ; over the altar is a picture, by 
Sabatelli, representing the Saint as a beau- 
tiful, nymph-like figure, floating down 
from heaven, attended by two angels bear- 
ing the lily, palm, and javelin, and be- 
neath, in the foreground, the sick and 
maimed, who are healed by her interces- 
sion." — Mrs. Jameson, Sacred and Le- 



gendary Art, II. 298. [The reference is to 
Miss Florence Nightingale.] 

Page 251. Tales of a Wayside Inn. 
Prelude. 

[All the guests, as Avell as the Inn, are 
real. The musician is Ole Bull, the Span- 
ish Jew Israel Edrehi, the poet T. W. 
Parsons, the Sicilian Luigi Monti, the 
theologian Professor Daniel Tread well, 
the student Henry Ware Wales.] 
Page 252. 

Writ near a century ago 

By the great Major Molineaux 

Whom Hawthorne has immortal made. 

[The lines are as follows : — 

What do you think ? 

Here is good drink, 
Perhaps you may not know it ; 

If not in haste, 

Do stop and taste ! 
You merry folk will show it. 

On another pane appears the Major's name, 
Wm. Molineux Jr. Esq., and the date, 
June 24, 1774. The allusion is to Haw- 
thorne's tale, My Kinsman, Major Moli- 
neux.] 

Page 255. The midnight ride of Paul 
Severe. 

[It is possible that Mr. Longfellow de- 
rived the story from Paul Revere's ac- 
count of the incident in a letter to Dr. 
Jeremy Belknap, printed in Mass. Hist. 
Coll. V. Mr. Frothingham, in his Siege of 
Boston, pp. 57-59, gives the story mainly 
according to a memorandum of Richard 
Devens, Revere's friend and associate. 
The publication of Mr. Longfellow's poem 
called out a protracted discussion both as 
to the church from which the signals were 
hung, and as to the friend who hung the 
lanterns. The subject is discussed and 
authorities cited in Memorial History of 
Boston, III. 101.] 

Page 259. The Falcon of Ser Fed- 
erigo. 

[The story is found in the Decameron, 
Fifth day, ninth tale. As Boccaccio, how- 
ever, was not the first to tell it, so Mr. 
Longfellow is not the only one after him 
to repeat it. So remote a source as Pant- 
schatantra (Benfey, II. 247) contains it, and 
La Fontaine includes it in his Contes et 
Nouvelles under the title of Le Faucon. 
Tennyson has treated the subject dramati- 
cally in The Falcon.] 

Page 2(55. The Legend of Rabbi Ben 
Levt. 

[Varnhagen refers to three several 
sources of this legend in the books Col Bo, 
Ben Sira, and Ketuboth, but it is most 
likely that Mr. Longfellow was indebted 
for the story to his friend Emmanuel 
Vitalis Scherb.] 



862 



NOTES 



Page 267. King Robert of Sicily. 

[This story is one of very wide distribu- 
tion. It is given in Gesta Romanorum as 
the story of Jovinian. Frere in his Old 
Deccan Days, or Hindoo Fairy Legends 
current in Southern India, recites it in the 
form of The Wanderings of Vicram Ma- 
harajah. Varnhagen pursues the legend 
through a great variety of forms. Leigh 
Hunt, among moderns, has told the story 
in A Jar of Honey from Mt. Hybla, from 
which source Mr. Longfellow seems to 
have drawn. Dante refers to the King in 
Paradiso, Canto VIII.] 

Page 300. The Birds of Killing- 
worth. 

[Killingworth in Connecticut was named 
from the English town Kenil worth in War- 
wickshire, and had the same orthography 
in the early records, but was afterwards 
corrupted into its present form. Sixty or 
seventy years ago, according to Mr. Henry 
Hull, writing from personal recollection, 
"the men of the northern part of the town 
did yearly in the spring choose two leaders, 
and then the two sides were formed : the 
side that got beaten should pay the bills. 
Their special game was the hawk, the 
owl, the crow, the blackbird, and any 
other bird supposed to be mischievous to 
the corn. Some years each side would 
bring them in by the bushel. This was 
followed up for only a few years, for the 
birds began to grow scarce." The story, 
based upon such a slight suggestion, was 
Mr. Longfellow's own invention.] 

Page 308. The Bell of Atri. 

[See Gualteruzzi's Cento Novelle An- 
tiche.] 

Page 311. Kambalu. 

[See Boni's edition of 17 Milione di 
Marco Polo, II. 35 and I. 14.] 

Page 322. Lady Wentworth. 

[The traditional account of the incidents 
of this tale in the family of Governor 
Wentworth is that none but his near rela- 
tions were present at the marriage, which 
they considered a great degradation. " The 
bride, who had been his housekeeper for 
seven years, was then .35, and attired in a 
calico dress and a white apron. The 
family stood in wholesome awe of the 
sturdy old governor, so treated Patty with 
civility, but it was hard work for the 
stately old dames, and she was dropped 
after his death." Governor Wentworth 
was born July 24, 1(596, and his marriage 
was on March 15, 1760.] 

Page 337. Charlemagne. 

[From a story in an old chronicle, He 
Factis Caroli Magni, quoted by Cantu, 
Storia degli Italiani, II. 122.] 

Page 344. Elizabeth. 

[As intimated in the Interlude which 



follows, the tale of Elizabeth was founded 
on a prose tale by Mrs. Lydia Maria Child, 
entitled The Youthful Emigrant, which 
fell under Mr. Longfellow's eye in a 
Portland paper. Besides this he had re- 
course to A Call to the Unfaithful Pro- 
fessors of Truth, by John Estaugh, with 
Preface by his widow. E. E.'s Testimony 
concerning her husband J. E. Several ex- 
pressions in the poem are derived from 
this little book.] 

Page 360. The Mother's Ghost. 

[A Danish ballad to be found in Grundt- 
vig's Danmarks gamle Folkeviser, II. 478, 
was the basis of this poem.] 

Page 401. All save one. 

[Professor Alpheus Spring Packard, 
since deceased.] 

Page 406. In Attica thy birthplace should 
have been. 

[Cornelius Conway Felton, at one time 
Professor of Greek, and afterward Pre- 
sident, at Harvard College.] 

Page 407. Piteously calling and lament- 
ing thee. 

[Jean Louis Rodolphe Agassiz, the emi- 
nent naturalist, whose summer home at 
Nahant was near Mr. Longfellow's, while 
they were also fellow-townsmen in Cam- 
bridge.] 

Page 407. A friend who bore thy name. 

[Charles Sumner.] 

Page 412. Here lies the gentle humorist. 

[Washington Irving.] 

Page 413. Parker Cleaveland. 

[A distinguished naturalist who was 
senior professor at Bowdoin College, where 
Mr. Longfellow was first a student and 
afterward an instructor.] 

Page 418. Poet! I come to touch thy 
lance with mine. 

"When any came to take the govern- 
ment of the Hundred or Wapentake in a 
day and place appointed, as they were ac- 
customed to meete, all the better sort met 
him with lances, and he alighting from his 
horse, all rise up to him, and he setting or 
holding his lance upright, all the rest come 
with their lances, according to the auncient 
custome in confirming league and publike 
peace and obedience, and touch his lance or 
weapon, and thereof called Wapentake, 
for the Saxon or old English wapun is 
weapon, and tac, tactus, a touching, there- 
by this meeting called Wapentake, or 
touching of weapon, because that by that 
signe and ceremonie of touching weapon 
or the lance, they were sworne and con- 
federate." — Master Lamberd in Minshew. 

Page 438. Of the White Chief with yel- 
low hair. 

[General George A. Custer, who was sur- 
prised and with his entire force put to 
death by the Sioux, June 25, 1876.] 



NOTES 



863 



Page 445. Watch o'er Maximilian's 
tomb. 

In the Hof kirche at Innsbruck. 

Page 459. The Children's Ckusade. 

["The Children's Crusade" was left 
unfinished by Mr. Longfellow. It is 
founded upon an event which occurred in 
the year 1212. An army of twenty thou- 
sand children, mostly boys, under the lead 
of a boy of ten years, named Nicolas, set 
out from Cologne for the Holy Land. 
When they reached Genoa only seven 
thousand remained. There, as the sea did 
not divide to allow them to march dry- 
shod to the East, they broke up. Some 
got as far as Rome ; two ship-loads sailed 
from Pisa, and were not heard of again ; 
the rest straggled back to Germany.] 

Page 469. The Bells of San Blas. 

[The last poem written by Mr. Longfel- 
low. It was finished March 15, 1882, nine 
days before his death.] 

Page 535. The Golden Legend. 

The old Legenda Aurea, or Golden 
Legend, was originally written in Latin, 
in the thirteenth century, by Jacobus de 
Voragine, a Dominican friar, who after- 
wards became Archbishop of Genoa, and 
died in 1292. 

He called his book simply Legends of 
ihe Saints. The epithet of Golden was 
given it by his admirers ; for, as Wynkin 
de Worde says, " Like as passeth gold in 
value all other metals, so this Legend ex- 
ceedeth all other books." But Edward 
Leigh, in much distress of mind, calls it 
" a book written by a man of a leaden 
heart for the basenesse of the errours, that 
are without wit or reason, and of a brazen 
forehead, for his impudent boldnessa in 
reporting things so fabulous and incredi- 
ble." 

I have called this poem the Golden Le- 
gend, because the story upon which it is 
founded seems to me to surpass all other 
legends in beauty and significance. It 
exhibits, amid the corruptions of the 
Middle Ages, the virtue of disinterested- 
ness and self-sacrifice, and the power of 
Faith, Hope, and Charity, sufficient for all 
the exigencies of life and death. The story 
is told, and perhaps invented, by Hart- 
mann von der Aue, a Minnesinger of the 
twelfth century. The original may be 
found in MaiUth's Altdeutsche Gedichte, 
with a modern German version. There is 
another in Marbach's Volksb'dcher, No. 
32. 

[Mr. S. Arthur Bent has annotated The 
Golden Legend with fulness and care.] 
Page 535. 
For these bells have been anointed, 
And baptized with holy water ! 
The consecration and baptism of bells is 



one of the most curious ceremonies of the 
Church in the Middle Ages. The Council 
of Cologne ordained as follows : — 

" Let the bells be blessed, as the trum- 
pets of the Church militant, by which the 
people are assembled to hear the wcrd of 
God ; the clergy to announce his mercy by 
day, and his truth in their nocturnal vigils : 
that by their sound the faithful may be 
invited to prayers, and v that the spirit of 
devotion in them may be increased. The 
fathers have also maintained that demons, 
affrighted by the sound of bells calling 
Christians to prayers, would flee away ; 
and when they fled, the persons of the 
faithful would be secure: that the de- 
struction of lightnings and whirlwinds 
would be averted, and the spirits of the 
storm defeated." — Edinburgh Encyclopae- 
dia,, Art. " Bells." 
See also Scheible's Kloster, vi. 776. 
Page 548. Evening Song. 
[Mr. Bent, in his annotated edition of 
The Golden Legend, remarks that this is 
modelled upon the choral songs which the 
Reformed Church of Germany adopted 
from existing popular chorals, which had 
long been in use in the social and public 
observances of the German people.] 
Page 551. It is the malediction of Eve ! 
" Nee esses plus quam femina, qua? nunc 
etiam viros transcendis, et quae maledic- 
tionem Evae in benedictionem vertisti 
Mariae." — Epistola Abozlardi Heloissae. 
Page 563. To come back to my text ! 
In giving this sermon of Friar Cuthbert 
as a specimen of the Risus Paschales, or 
street-preaching of the monks at Easter, 
I have exaggerated nothing. This very 
anecdote, offensive as it is, comes from a 
discourse of Father B arietta, a Dominican 
friar of the fifteenth century, whose fame 
as a popular preacher was so great that it 
gave rise to the proverb, — 
Nescit predicare 
Qui nescit Barlettare. 
" Among the abuses introduced in this 
century," says Tiraboschi, "was that of 
exciting from the pulpit the laughter of 
the hearers ; as if that were the same 
thing as converting them. We have ex- 
amples of this, not only in Italy, but also 
in France, where the sermons of Menot 
and Maillard, and of others, who would 
make a better appearance on the stage 
than in the pulpit, are still celebrated for 
such follies." 

My authority for the spiritual interpre- 
tation of bell-ringing, which follows, is 
Durandus, Ration. Divin. Offic, Lib. I., 
cap. 4. 

Page 565. The Nativity: a Miracle- 
Play. 

A singular chapter in the history of the 



864 



NOTES 



Middle Ages is that which gives account 
of the early Christian Drama, the Mys- 
teries, Moralities, and Miracle - Plays, 
which were at first performed in churches, 
and afterwards in the streets, on fixed or 
movable stages. For the most part, the 
Mysteries were founded on the historic 
portions of the Old and New Testaments, 
and the Miracle-Plays on the lives of 
Saints ; a distinction not always observed, 
however, for in Mr. Wright's Early Mys- 
teries and other Latin Poems of the Twelfth, 
and Thirteenth Centuries, the Resurrection 
of Lazarus is called a Miracle, and not a 
Mystery. The Moralities were plays in 
which the Virtues and Vices were per- 
sonified. 

The earliest religious play which has 
been preserved is the Christos Paschon of 
Gregory Nazianzen, written in Greek, in 
the fourth century. Next to this come the 
remarkable Latin plays of Roswitha, the 
Nun of Gandersheim, in the tenth cen- 
tury, which, though crude and wanting 
in artistic construction, are marked by a 
good deal of dramatic power and interest. 

The representation of religious plays has 
not yet been wholly discontinued by the 
Roman Church. At Ober-Ammergau, in 
the Tyrol, a grand spectacle of this kind 
is exhibited once in ten years. A very 
graphic description of that which took 
place in the year 1850 is given by Miss 
Anna Mary Howitt, in her Art-Student in 
Munich, vol. I., chap. 4. 

Mr. Bayard Taylor, in his Eldorado, 
gives a description of a Mystery he saw per- 
formed at San Lionel, in Mexico. See vol. 
II., chap. 11. 

In 1852 there was a representation of 
this kind by Germans in Boston: and I 
have now before me the copy of a play-bill, 
announcing the performance, on June 10, 
1852, in Cincinnati, of the Great Biblico- 
Historical Drama, the Life of Jesus Christ, 
with the characters and the names of the 
performers. 

Page 566. Here the Angel Gabriel shall 
leave Paradise. 

[A stage of three stories was often 
erected, the topmost representing Paradise 
(hence in Germany this word is used for 
the upper gallery of a theatre, anglice, 
"the Gods"); on the middle stage was 
the Earth ; below were the " Jaws of 
Hell," sometimes represented by the open- 
ing and shutting of the mouth of an enor- 
mous dragon. Goethe introduces the Jaws 
of Hell to the stage machinery of Faust. 
(V. 6).— S.A.Bent.] 

Page 575. The Scriptorium. 

A most interesting volume might be 
written on the Calligraphers and Chryso- 
graphers, the transcribers and illuminators 



of manuscripts in the Middle Ages. These 
men were for the most part monks, who 
labored, sometimes for pleasure and some- 
times for penance, in multiplying copies 
of the classics and the Scriptures. 

" Of all bodily labors which are proper 
for us," says Cassiodorus, the old Cala- 
brian monk, " that of copying books has 
always been more to my taste than any 
other. The more so, as in this exercise the 
mind is instructed by the reading of the 
Holy Scriptures, and it is a kind of homily 
to the others, whom these books may 
reach. It is preaching with the hand, by 
converting the fingers into tongues ; it is 
publishing to men in silence the words of 
salvation ; in fine, it is fighting against 
the demon with pen and ink. As many 
words as a transcriber writes, so many 
wounds the demon receives. In a word, a 
recluse, seated in his chair to copy books, 
travels into different provinces without 
moving from the spot, and the labor of his 
hands is felt even where he is not." 

Nearly every monastery was provided 
with its Scriptorium. Nicolas de Clair- 
vaux, St. Bernard's secretary, in one of 
his letters describes his cell, which he calls 
Scriptoriolum, where he copied books. 
And Mabillon, in his Etudes Monastiques, 
says that in his time were still to be seen 
at Citeaux "many of those little cells, 
where the transcribers and bookbinders 
worked." 

Page 580. Drink down to your peg ! 

One of the canons of Archbishop An- 
selm, promulgated at the beginning of the 
twelfth century, ordains " that priests go 
not to drinking-bouts, nor drink to pegs." 
In the times of the hard-drinking Danes, 
King Edgar ordained that pins or nails 
should be fastened into the drinking-cups 
or horns at stated distances, and whoso- 
ever should drink beyond those marks at 
one draught should be obnoxious to a 
severe punishment. 

Sharpe, in his History of the Kings of 
England, says : " Our ancestors were 
formerly famous for compotation ; their 
liquor was ale, and one method of amus- 
ing themselves in this way was with the 
peg-tankard. I had lately one of them in 
my hand. It had on the inside a row oi 
eight pins, one above another, from top to 
bottom. It held two quarts, and was a 
noble piece of plate, so that there was a 
gill of ale, half a pint Wincester measure, 
between each peg. The law was, that 
every person that drank was to empty the 
space between pin and pin, so that the 
pins were so many measures to make, 
the company all drink alike, and to swal- 
low the same quantity of liquor. This 
was a pretty sure method of making all 



NOTES 



865 



the company drunk, especially if it be con- 
sidered that the rule was, that whoever 
drank short of his pin, or beyond it, was 
obliged to drink again, and even as deep 
as to the next pin." 

Page 594. Were it not for my magic 
garters and staff. 

The method of making the Magic Gar- 
ters and the Magic Staff is thus laid down 
in Les Secrets Merveilleux du Petit Albert, 
a French translation of Alberti Parvi Lucii 
Libellus de Mirabilibus Naturce Arcanis : — 

" Gather some of the herb called mother- 
wort, when the sun is entering the first 
degree of the sign of Capricorn ; let it dry 
a little in the shade, and make some gar- 
ters of the skin jf a young hare ; that is to 
say, having e\t the skin of the hare into 
strips two inches wide, double them, sew 
the before-mentioned herb between, and 
wear them on your legs. No horse can 
long keep up with a man on foot, who is 
furnished with these garters." 



128. 



Page 



" Gather, on the morrow of All-Saints, a 
strong branch of willow, of which you will 
make a staff, fashioned to your liking. 
Hollow it out, by removing the pith from 
within, after having furnished the lower 
end with an iron ferule. Put into the 
bottom of the staff the two eyes of a young 
wolf, the tongue and heart of a dog, three 
green lizards, and the hearts of three 
swallows. These must all be dried in the 
sun, between two papers, having been first 
sprinkled with pulverized saltpetre. Be- 
sides all these, put into the staff seven 
leaves of vervain, gathered on the eve of 
St. John the Baptist, with a stone of 
divers colors, which you will find in the 
nest of the lapwing, and stop the end of the 
staff with a pomel of box, or of any other 
material you please, and be assured that 
this staff will guarantee you from the 
perils and mishaps which too often befall 
travellers, either from robbers, wild beasts, 
mad dogs, or venomous animals. It will 
also procure you the good-will of those 
with whom you lodge." — Page 130. 

Page 597. Saint Elmo's Stars. 

So the Italian sailors called the phos- 
phorescent gleams that sometimes play 
about the masts and rigging of ships. 

Page 597. The School of Salerno. 

For a history of the celebrated schools 
of Salerno and Monte-Cassino, the reader 
is referred to Sir Alexander Croke's In- 
troduction to the Begimen Sanitatis Sa- 
lernitanum ; and to Kurt Sprengel's Ge- 
schichte der Arzneikunde, i. 463, or Jour- 
dan's French translation of it, Histoire de 
la Medecine, ii. 354. 

Page 663. He must spell Baker. 

A local expression for doing anything 



difficult. In the old spelling-books, Baker 
was the first word of two syllables, and 
when a child came to it he thought he had 
a hard task before him. 

Page 692. 

To King Antiochus, 

The God, Epiphanes :' a Memorial, 

From the Sidonians, who live at Sichem. 

[The reader will notice in The Divine 
Tragedy the ease with which Mr. Longfel- 
low adjusted the Scriptural phraseology to 
the demands of blank verse. So here, he 
has been able to use without change the 
words found in Josephus, Antiquities of the 
Jews, Book XII. Chapter V. in Whiston's 
translation. The text of the Memorial is 
slightly condensed, but otherwise is almost 
a transcript from Whiston.] 

Page 694. The Dungeons in the 
Citadel. 

[This powerful scene is a dramatization 
of II. Maccabees, chapter 7, with the ef- 
fective change by which the mother is 
shown apart from the sons, and the torture 
is made inferential.] 

Page 712. 

Why did the Pope and his ten Cardinals 

Come here tojay this heavy task upon me ? 

[The Last Judgment was begun in 1534, 
when Paul III., Alessandro Farnese, was 
Pope.] 

Page 712. 

The bones of Julius 
Shook in their sepulchre. 

[Julius II., who became Pope in 1503. 
The Julius who appears in this poem is 
Julius III.] 

Page 728. 

The Marquis of Pescara is my husband, 
And death has not divorced us. 

[Vittoria Colonna was born in 1490, 
betrothed to the Marquis de Pescara in 
1495, and married to him in 1509. Pescara 
was killed in fighting against the French 
under the walls of Ravenna in 1512. It is 
not known when or where Vittoria Co- 
lonna first met Michael Angelo, but all 
authorities agree that it must have been 
about the year 1536, when he was over 
sixty years of age. She did not escape the 
espionage of the Inquisition, but was com- 
pelled in 1541 to fly to the convent at Vi- 
terbo. Three years later, she went to the 
convent of Benedictines of St. Anne in 
Rome, and just before her death, in 1547, 
she was taken to the house of Giuliano 
Cesarini, the husband of Giulia Colonna, 
her only relative in Rome. It was after 
she fled to the convent that she began to 
write sonnets to and receive them from 
Michael Angelo, whose love for her was 
not capable of being concealed. Hartford, 
in his Life of Michael Angelo Buonarotti, 
includes a life also of Vittoria Colonna.] 



866 



NOTES 



Page 775. Coplas de Manrique. 

This poem of Manrique is a great favor- 
ite in Spain. No less than four poetic 
Glosses, or running commentaries, upon 
it have been published, no one of which, 
however, possesses great poetic merit. 
That of the Carthusian monk, Rodrigo de 
Valdepenas, is the best. It is known as 
the Closa del Cartujo. There is also a prose 
Commentary by Luis de Arauda. 

The following stanzas of the poem were 
found in the author's pocket, after his 
death on the field of battle. 

" O World ! so few the years we live, 
Would that the life which thou dost give 
Were life indeed ! 
Alas ! thy sorrows fall so fast, 
Our happiest hour is when at last 
The soul is freed. 

" Our days are covered o'er with grief, 
And sorrows neither few nor brief 
Veil all in gloom ; 
Left desolate of real good, 
Within this cheerless solitude 
No pleasures bloom. 

" Thy pilgrimage begins in tears, 
And ends in bitter doubts and fears, 
Or dark despair ; 
Midway so many toils appear, 
That he who lingers longest here 
Knows most of care. 

" Thy goods are bought with many a groan, 
By the hot sweat of toil alone, 
And weary hearts ; 
Fleet-footed is the approach of woe, 
But with a lingering step and slow 
Its form departs." 

Page 791. The Children of the 
Lord's Supper. 

There is something patriarchal still lin- 
gering about rural life in Sweden, which 
renders it a fit theme for song. Almost 
primeval simplicity reigns over that North- 
ern land, — almost primeval solitude and 
stillness. You pass out from the gate of 
the city, and, as if by magic, the scene 
changes to a wild, woodland landscape. 
Around you are forests of fir. Overhead 
hang the long, fan-like branches, trailing 
with moss, and heavy with red and blue 
cones. Under foot is a carpet of yellow 
leaves ; and the air is warm and balmy. 
On a wooden bridge you cross a little sil- 
ver stream ; and anon come forth into a 
pleasant and sunny land of farms. Wood- 
en fences divide the adjoining fields. 
Across the road are gates, which are 
opened by troops of children. The peas- 
ants take off their hats as you pass ; you 
sneeze, and they cry, " God bless you ! " 
The houses in the villages and smaller 
towns are all built of hewn timber, and for 
the most part painted red. The floors of 



the taverns are strewn with the fragrant 
tips of fir boughs. In many villages there 
are no taverns, and the peasants take turns 
in receiving travellers. The thrifty house- 
wife shows you into the best chamber, the 
walls of which are hung round with rude 
pictures from the Bible ; and brings you 
her heavy silver spoons, — an heirloom, — 
to dip the curdled milk from the pan. 
You have oaten cakes baked some months 
before, or bread with anise-seed and cori- 
ander in it, or perhaps a little pine bark. 

Meanwhile the sturdy husband has 
brought his horses from the plough, and 
harnessed them to your carriage. Solitary 
travellers come and go in uncouth one- 
horse chaises. Most of them have pipes in 
their mouths, and, hanging around their 
necks in front, a leather wallet, in which 
they carry tobacco, and the great bank- 
notes of the country, as large as your two 
hands. You meet, also, groups of Dale- 
karlian peasant-women, travelling home- 
ward or town ward in pursuit of work. 
They walk barefoot, carrying in their 
hands their shoes, which have high heels 
under the hollow of the foot, and soles of 
birch bark. 

Frequent, too, are the village churches, 
standing by the roadside, each in its own 
little Garden of Gethsemane. In the par- 
ish register great events are doubtless re- 
corded. Some old king was christened or 
buried in that church ; and a little sexton, 
with a rusty key, shows you the baptismal 
font, or the coffin. In the churchyard are 
a few flowers, and much green grass ; and 
daily the shadow of the church spire, with 
its long, tapering finger, counts the tombs, 
representing a dial-plate of human life, on 
which the hours and minutes are the 
graves of men. The stones are flat, and 
large, and low, and perhaps sunken, like 
the roofs of old houses. On some are ar- 
morial bearings ; on others only the initials 
of the poor tenants, with a date, as on the 
roofs of Dutch cottages. They all sleep 
with their heads to the westward. Each 
held a lighted taper in his hand when he 
died ; and in his coffin were placed his lit- 
tle heart-treasures, and a piece of money 
for his last journey. Babes that came life- 
less into the world were carried in the 
amis of gray-haired old men to the only 
cradle they ever slept in ; and in the 
shroud of the dead mother were laid the 
little garments of the child that lived 
and died in her bosom. And over this 
scene the village pastor looks from his 
window in the stillness of midnight, and 
says in his heart, " How quietly they rest, 
all the departed ! " 

Near the churchyard gate stands a poor- 
box, fastened to a post by iron bands and 



NOTES 



867 



secured by a padlock, with a sloping 
wooden roof to keep off the rain. If it be 
Sunday, the peasants sit on the church 
steps and con their psalm-books. Others 
are coming down the road with their 
beloved pastor, who talks to them of holy 
things from beneath his broad-brimmed 
hat. He speaks of fields and harvests, 
and of the parable of the sower, that went 
forth to sow. He leads them to the Good 
Shepherd, and to the pleasant pastures of 
the spirit-land. He is their patriarch, and, 
like Melchizedek, both priest and king, 
though he has no other throne than the 
church pulpit. The women carry psalm- 
books in their hands, wrapped in silk 
handkerchiefs, and listen devoutly to the 
good man's words. But the young men, 
like Gallio, care for none of these things. 
They are busy counting the plaits in the 
kirtles of the peasant-girls, their number 
being an indication of the wearer's wealth. 
It may end in a wedding. 

I will endeavor to describe a village wed- 
ding in Sweden. It shall be in summer- 
time, that there may be flowers, and in a 
southern province, that the bride may be 
fair. The early song of the lark and of 
chanticleer are mingling in the clear morn- 
ing air, and the sun, the heavenly bride- 
groom with golden locks, arises in the east, 
just as our earthly bridegroom with yel- 
low hair arises in the south. In the yard 
there is a sound of voices and trampling 
of hoofs, and horses are led forth and 
saddled. The steed that is to bear the 
bridegroom has a bunch of flowers upon 
his forehead , and a garland of corn-flowers 
around his neck. Friends from the neigh- 
boring farms come riding in, their blue 
cloaks streaming to the wind ; and finally 
the happy bridegroom, with a whip in his 
hand, and a monstrous nosegay in the 
breast of his black jacket, comes forth 
from his chamber ; and then to horse and 
away, towards the village where the bride 
already sits and waits. 

Foremost rides the spokesman, followed 
by some half-dozen village musicians. 
Next comes the bridegroom between his 
two groomsmen, and then forty or fifty 
friends and wedding guests, half of them 
perhaps with pistols and guns in their 
hands. A kind of baggage-wagon brings 
up the rear, laden with food and drink for 
these merry pilgrims. At the entrance of 
every village stands a triumphal arch, 
adorned with flowers and ribbons and ever- 
greens ; and as they pass beneath it the 
wedding guests fire a salute, and the whole 
procession stops. And straight from every 
pocket flies a black-jack, filled with punch 
or brandy. It is passed from hand to 
hand among the crowd ; provisions are 



brought from the wagon, and after eating 
and drinking and hurrahing the procession 
moves forward again, and at length draws 
near the house of the bride. Four heralds 
ride forward to announce that a knight 
and his attendants are in the neighboring 
forest, and pray for hospitality. " How 
many are you? " asks the bride's father. 
" At least three hundred," is the answer ; 
and to this the host replies, "Yes; were 
you seven times as many, you should all be 
welcome : and in token thereof receive 
this cup." Whereupon each herald re- 
ceives a can of ale ; and soon after the 
whole jovial company comes storming into 
the farmer's yard, and, riding round the 
May-pole, which stands in the centre, 
alights amid a grand salute and flourish 
of music. 

In the hall sits the bride, with a crown 
upon her head and a tear in her eye, like 
the Virgin Mary in old church paintings. 
She is dressed in a red bodice and kirtle 
with loose linen sleeves. There is a gilded 
belt around her waist ; and around her 
neck strings of golden beads, and a golden 
chain. On the crown rests a wreath of 
wild roses, and below it another of cy- 
press. Loose over her shoulders falls her 
flaxen hair ; and her blue innocent eyes are 
fixed upon the ground. thou good soul ! 
thou hast hard hands, but a soft heart! 
Thou art poor. The very ornaments thou 
wearest are not thine. They have been 
hired for this great day. Yet art thou 
rich ; rich in health, rich in hope, rich in 
thy first, young, fervent love. The bless- 
ing of Heaven be upon thee ! So thinks 
the parish priest, as he joins together the 
hands of bride and bridegroom, saying in 
deep, solemn tones, — "I give thee in 
marriage this damsel, to be thy wedded 
wife in all honor, and to share the half of 
thy bed, thy lock and key, and every third 
penny which you two may possess, or may 
inherit, and all the rights which Upland's 
laws provide, and the holy King Erik 
gave." 

The dinner is now served, and the bride 
sits between the bridegroom and the priest. 
The spokesman delivers an oration after 
the ancient custom of his fathers. He in- 
terlards it well with quotations from the 
Bible ; and invites the Saviour to be pres- 
ent at this marriage feast, as he was at the 
marriage feast in Cana of Galilee. The ta- 
ble is not sparingly set forth. Each makes 
a long arm and the feast goes cheerly on. 
Punch and brandy pass round between the 
courses, and here and there a pipe is 
smoked while waiting for the next dish. 
They sit long at table ; but, as all things 
must have an end, so must a Swedish din- 
ner. Then the dance begins. It is led off 



868 



NOTES 



by the bride and the priest, who perform 
a solemn minuet together. Not till after 
midnight comes the last dance. The girls 
form a ring around the bride, to keep her 
from the hands of the married women, 
who endeavor to break through the magic 
circle, and seize their new sister. After 
long struggling they succeed; and the 
crown is taken from her head and the jew- 
els from her neck, and her bodice is un- 
laced and her kirtle taken off ; and like a 
vestal virgin clad all in white she goes, but 
it is to her marriage chamber, not to her 
grave ; and the wedding guests follow her 
with lighted candles in their hands. And 
this is a village bridal. 

Nor must I forget the suddenly chan- 
ging seasons of the Northern clime. There 
is no long and lingering spring, unfolding 
leaf and blossom one by one ; no long and 
lingering autumn, pompous with many- 
colored leaves and the glow of Indian 
summers. But winter and summer are 
wonderful, and pass into each other. The 
quail has hardly ceased piping in the corn, 
when winter from the folds of trailing 
clouds sows broadcast over the land snow, 
icicles, and rattling hail. The days wane 
apace. Erelong the sun hardly rises above 
the horizon, or does not rise at all. The 
moon and the stars shine through the day ; 
only, at noon, they are pale and wan, and 
in the southern sky a red, fiery glow, as of 
sunset, burns along the horizon, and then 
goes out. And pleasantly under the silver 
moon, and under the silent, solemn stars, 
ring the steel-shoes of the skaters on the 
frozen sea, and voices, and the sound of 
bells. 

And now the Northern Lights begin to 
burn, faintly at first, like sunbeams play- 
ing in the waters of the blue sea. Then 
a soft crimson glow tinges the heavens. 
There is a blush on the cheek of night. 
The colors come and go, and change from 
crimson to gold, from gold to crimson. 
The snow is stained with rosy light. Two- 
fold from the zenith, east and west, flames 
a fiery sword ; and a broad band passes 
athwart the heavens like a summer sunset. 
Soft purple clouds come sailing over the 
sky, and through their vapory folds the 
winking stars shine white as silver. With 
such pomp as this is Merry Christmas 
ushered in, though only a single star her- 
alded the first Christmas. And in memory 
of that day the Swedish peasants dance 
on straw ; and the peasant-girls throw 
straws at the timbered roof of the hall, and 
for every one that sticks in a crack shall a 
groomsman come to their wedding. Merry 
Christmas indeed ! For pious souls there 
shall be church songs and sermons, but for 
Swedish peasants, brandy and nut-brown 



ale in wooden bowls ; and the great Yule- 
cake crowned with a cheese, and garlanded . 
with apples, and upholding a three-armed 
candlestick over the Christmas feast. 
They may tell tales, too, of Jons Lunds- 
bracka, and Lunkenfus, and the great 
Riddar Finke of Pingsdaga. 1 

And now the glad, leafy midsummer, 
full of blossoms and the song of nightin- 
gales, is come ! Saint John has taken the 
flowers and festival of heathen Balder; 
and in every village there is a May-pole 
fifty feet high, with wreaths and roses and 
ribbons streaming in the wind, and a noisy 
weather-cock on top, to tell the village 
whence the wind cometh and whither it 
goeth. The sun does not set till ten o'clock 
at night ; and the children are at play in 
the streets an hour later. The windows 
and doors are all open, and you may sit 
and read till midnight without a candle. 
0, how beautiful is the summer night, 
which is not night, but a sunless yet un- 
clouded day, descending upon earth with 
dews and shadows and refreshing coolness ! 
How beautiful the long, mild twilight, 
which like a silver clasp unites to-day 
with yesterday ! How beautiful the silent 
hour, when Morning and Evening thus sit 
together, hand in hand, beneath the star- 
less sky of midnight ! From the church- 
tower in the public square the bell tolls 
the hour, with a soft, musical chime ; and 
the watchman, whose watch-tower is the 
belfry, blows a blast in his horn, for each 
stroke of the hammer, and four times, to 
the four corners of the heavens, in a sono- 
rous voice he chants, — 

" Ho ! watchman, ho ! 

Twelve is the clock ! 

God keep our town 

From fire and brand 

And hostile hand ! 

Twelve is the clock ! " 

From his swallow's nest in the belfry he 
can see the sun all night long ; and farther 
north the priest stands at his door in the 
warm midnight, and lights his pipe with a 
common burning-glass. 

I trust these remarks will not be deemed 
irrelevant to the poem, but will lead to a 
clearer understanding of it. The transla- 
tion is literal, perhaps to a fault. In no 
instance have I done the author a wrong, 
by introducing into his work any supposed 
improvements or embellishments of my 
own. I have preserved even the measure. 

Esaias Tegn^r, the author of this poem, 
was born in 1782, was educated at the Uni- 
versity of Lund, and in 1812 was appointed 
Professor of Greek in that institution. In 
1824 he became Bishop of Wexio. He stands 
first among the poets of Sweden, living 
1 Titles of Swedish popular tales. 



NOTES 



869 



or dead. His principal work is Frithiof 's 
Saga, one of the most remarkable poems 
of the age. This modern Scald has written 
his name in immortal runes. He is the 
glory and boast of Sweden ; a prophet 
honored in his own country. [Bishop 
Tegndr died in 1846.] 

Page 792. The Feast of the Leafy Pa- 
vilions. 

In Swedish, Lofhyddohogtiden, the Leaf- 
huts'-high-tide. 

Page 792. Hb'rberg. 

The peasant-painter of Sweden. He is 
known chiefly by his altar-pieces in the 
village churches. 

Page 792. _ Wallin. 

A distinguished pulpit-orator and poet. 
He is particularly remarkable for the 
beauty and sublimity of his psalms. 

Page 801. King Christian. 

Nils Juel was a celebrated Danish Ad- 
miral, and Peder Wessel, a Vice- Admiral, 
who for his great prowess received the 
popular title of Tordenskiold, or Thunder- 
shield. In childhood he was a tailor's ap- 
prentice, and rose to his high rank before 
the age of twenty-eight, when he was 
killed in a duel. 

Page 802. The Elected Knight. _ 

This strange and somewhat mystical 
ballad is from Nyerup and Rahbek's 
Danske Viser of the Middle Ages. It 
seems to refer to the first preaching of 
Christianity in the North, and to the in- 
stitution of Knight-Errantry. The three 
maidens I suppose to be Faith, Hope, and 
Charity. The irregularities of the original 
have been carefully preserved in the trans- 
lation. 



809. The Luck of Edenhall. 

The tradition upon which this ballad is 
founded, and the kt shards of the Luck of 
Edenhall," still exist in England. The 
goblet is in the possession of Sir Christo- 
pher Musgrave, Bart., of Eden Hall, Cum- 
berland ; and is not so entirely shattered 
as the ballad leaves it. 

Page 819. The Blind Girl of Cas- 
tel-Cuille. 

Jasmin, the author of this beautiful 
poem, is to the South of France what 
Burns is to the South of Scotland, — the 
representative of the heart of the people, 
— one of those happy bards who are born 
with their mouths full of birds (la bouco 
pleho d' aouzelous) . He has written his 
own biography in a poetic form, and the 
simple narrative of his poverty, his strug- 
gles, and his triumphs is very touching. 
He still lives at Agen, on the Garonne ; and 
long may he live there to delight his native 
land with native songs ! [Jasmin died in 
1864, in his sixty-seventh year.] 

[When first printing this note, Mr. 
Longfellow added a long description of 
Jasmin and his way of life from Louisa 
Stuart Costello's Beam and the Pyrenees. 
In more recent days Miss H. W. Preston 
has written sympathetically on the same 
subject. See The Atlantic Monthly, Janu- 
ary and February, 1876.] 

Page 826. A Christmas Carol. 

[A description of Christmas in Bur- 
gundy from M. Fertiault's Coup d^CEil sur 
Jes Noels en Bourgogne, prefixed to the 
Paris edition of Les Noels Bourguignons de 
Bernard de la Mennoye(Gui Barozai), 1842, 
was quoted by Mr. Longfellow when first 
printing this poem.] 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



A blind man is a poor man, and blind a poor man 

is, 812. 
A fleet with flags arrayed, 439. 
After so long an absence, 379. 
A gentle boy, with soft and silken locks, 380. 
A handful of red sand, from the hot clime, 134. 
Ah, how short are the days ! How soon the night 

overtakes us, 344. 
Ah, Love, 53. 
Ah me ! ah me ! when thinking of the years, 

840. 
Ah ! thou moon that shinest, 52. 
Ah ! what pleasant visions haunt me, 130. 
A little bird in the air, 287. 
Allah gives light in darkness, 814. 
All are architects of Fate, 134. 
All are sleeping, weary heart, 46. 
All day has the battle raged, 292. 
All houses wherein men have lived and died, 

232. 
All the old gods are dead, 282. 
Am I a king, that I should call my own, 446. 
A mill-stone and the human heart are driven ever 

round, 812. 
A mist was driving down the British Channel, 

231. 
Among the many lives that I have known, 413. 
An angel with a radiant face, 828. 
And King Olaf heard the cry, 272. 
And now, behold ! as at the approach of morning, 

833. 
And thou, River of To-morrow, flowing, 415. 
And when the kings were in the field, — their 

squadrons in array, 785. 
And whither goest thou, gentle sigh, 817. 
Annie of Tharaw, my true love of old, 811. 
An old man in a lodge within a park, 407. 
As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, 412. 
As a pale phantom with a lamp, 458. 
A soldier of the Union mustered out, 410. 
As one who long hath fled with panting breath, 

458. 
As one who, walking in the twilight gloom, 123. 
As the birds come in the Spring, 454. 
As treasures that men seek, 775. 
As unto the bow the cord is, 165. 
At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay, 248. 
At Atri, in Abruzzo, a small town, 308. 
At Drontheim, Olaf the King, 283. 
At La Chaudeau, — 't is long since then, 831. 
At Stralsund, by the Baltic Sea, 317. 
At the foot of the mountain height, 819. 
A vision as of crowded city streets, 408. 
Awake ! arise ! the hour is late, 468. 
Awake, O north-wind, 478. 
A wind came up out of the sea, 244. 
A youth, light-hearted and content, 809. 

Barabbas is my name, 523. 
Baron Castine of St. Castine, 328. 
Beautiful lily, dwelling by still rivers, 368. 



Beautiful valley ! through whose verdant meads, 

421. 
Becalmed upon the sea of Thought, 455. 
Behold ! a giant am I, 452. 
Bell ! thou soundest merrily, 806. 
Beside the ungathered rice he lay, 25. 
Between the dark and the daylight, 247. 
Beware ! the Israelite of old, who tore, 28. 
Black are the moors before Kazan, 842. 
Black shadows fall, 227. 
Blind Bartimeus at the gates, 22, 512. 
Build me straight, O worthy Master, 124. 
Burn, O evening hearth, and waken, 370. 
By his evening fire the artist, 136. 
By the shore of Gitche Gumee, 197. 

Can it be the sun descending, 170. 

Centuries old are the mountains, 391. 

Christ to the young man said : Yet one thing 

more, 139. 
Clear fount of light ! my native land on high, 

783. 
Come from thy caverns dark and deep, 393. 
Come, my beloved, 478. 
Come, O Death, so silent flying, 787. 
Come, old friend ! sit down and listen, 82. 
Come to me, O ye children, 246. 

Dark is the morning with mist ; in the narrow 

mouth of the harbor, 450. 
Dead he lay among his books, 445. 
Dear child ! how radiant on thy mother's knee, 

74. 
Don Nuno, Count of Lara, 784. 
Dost thou see on the rampart's height, 444. 
Dowered with all celestial gifts, 383. 
Down from yon distant mountain height, 842. 
Downward through the evening twilight, 147. 

Each heart has its haunted chamber, 379. 
Even as the Blessed, at the final summons, 835. 
Evermore a sound shall be, 390. 
Every flutter of the wing, 389. 
Eyes so tristful, eyes so tristful, 787. 

Far and wide among the nations, 189. 

Filled is Life's goblet to the brim, 22. 

Flooded by raiu and snow, 391. 

Flow on, sweet river ! like his verse, 466. 

Forms of saints and kings are standing, 811. 

For thee was a house built, 814. 

Forth from the curtain of clouds, from the tent 

of purple and scarlet, 224. 
Forth upon the Gitche Gumee, 159. 
Four by the clock ! and yet not day, 462. 
Four limpid lakes, — four Naiades, 458. 
From the outskirts of the town, 380. 
From this high portal, where upsprings, 828. 
Full of wrath was Hiawatha, 184. 

Gaddi mi fece : il Ponte Vecchio sono, 411. 



872 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



Garlands upon his grave, 419. 

Gentle Spring ! in sunshine clad, 817. 

Gently swaying to and fro, 389. 

Give me of your bark, Birch-tree, 157. 

Gloomy and dark art thou, O chief of the mighty 

Omahas, 79. 
Glove of black in white hand bare, 788. 
God sent his messenger the rain, 607. 
God sent his Singers upon earth, 138. 
Good night ! good night, beloved, 52. 
Guarding the mountains around, 392. 

Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled, 326. 

Half of my life is gone, and I have let, 84. 

Hark, hark, 816. 

Haste and hide thee, 390. 

Hast thou seen that lordly castle, 806. 

Have I dreamed ? or was it real, 229. 

Have you read in the Talmud of old, 246. 

He is dead, the beautiful youth, 373. 

He is gone to the desert land ! 840. 

Here in a little rustic hermitage, 417. 

Here lies the gentle humorist, who died, 412. 

High on their turreted cliffs, 391. 

Honor be to Mudjekeewis ! 144. 

How beautiful is the rain, 73. 

How beautiful it was, that one bright day, 370. 

How cold are thy baths, Apollo ! 448. 

How I started up in the night, in the night, 813. 

How many lives, made beautiful and sweet, 374. 

How much of my young heart, O Spain, 436. 

How strange it seems ! These Hebrews in their 

graves, 235. 
How strange the sculptures that adorn these 

towers, 375. 
How the Titan, the defiant, 386. 
How they so softly rest, 804. 

I am poor and old and blind, 425. 

I am the God Thor, 271. 

I enter, and I see thee in the gloom, 375. 

If perhaps these rhymes of mine should sound 
not well in strangers' ears, 813. 

If thou art sleeping, maiden, 64, 840. 

I have a vague remembrance, 380. 

I have read, in some old, marvellous tale, 7. 

I hear along our street, 826. 

I heard a brooklet gushing, 805. 

I heard a voice, that cried, 137. 

I heard the bells on Christmas Day, 371. 

I heard the trailing garments of the Night, 3. 

I know a maiden fair to see, 806. 

I lay upon the headland-height, and listened, 369. 

I leave you, ye cold mountain chains, 830. 

I lift mine eyes, and all the windows blaze, 376. 

I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls, 20. 

In Attica thy birthplace should have been, 406. 

In broad daylight, and at noon, 235. 

In dark fens of the Dismal Swamp, 26. 

In his chamber, weak and dying, 73. 

In his lodge beside a river, 195. 

In Mather's Magnalia Christi, 230. 

In Ocean's wide domains, 27. 

In St. Luke's Gospel we are told, 451. 

Intelligence and courtesy not always are com- 
bined, 812. 

In that building long and low, 239. 

In that desolate land and lone, 438. 

In the ancient town of Bruges, 67. 

In the convent of Drontheim, 292. 

In the heroic days when Ferdinand, 295. 

In the long, sleepless watches of the night, 418. 

In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry 
old and brown, 68. 



In the old churchyard of his native town, 453. 

In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of 
the Pilgrims, 201. 

In the valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad 
meadow-lands, 71. 

In the Valley of the Vire, 236. 

In the village churchyard she lies, 232. 

In the workshop of Hephaestus, 383. 

In those days said Hiawatha, 177. 

In those days the Evil Spirits, 179. 

Into the city of Kambalu, 311. 

Into the darkness and the hush of night, 453. 

Into the open air John Alden, perplexed and be- 
wildered, 209. 

Into the Silent Land, 808. 

I pace the sounding sea-beach and behold, 408. 

I said unto myself, if I were dead, 410. 

I saw, as in a dream sublime, 77. 

I saw the long line of the vacant shore, 410. 

I see amid the fields of Ayr, 448. 

I shot an arrow into the air, 84. 

Is it so far from thee, 446. 

I sleep, but my heart awaketh, 476. 

I stand again on the familiar shore, 407. 

I stand beneath the tree, whose branches shade, 
416. 

I stood on the bridge at midnight, 78. 

I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch, 
12. 

Italy ! Italy ! thou who 'rt doomed to wear, 
■836. 

I thought this Pen would arise, 448. 

It is autumn ; not without, 458. 

It is the Harvest Moon ! On gilded vanes, 414. 

I trust that somewhere and somehow, 313. 

It was Einar Tamberskelver, 291. 

It was fifty years ago, 245. 

It was Sir Christopher Gardiner, 363. 

It was the schooner Hesperus, 17. 

It was the season, when through all the land, 
300. 

Janus am I ; oldest of potentates, 455. 
Joy and Temperance and Repose, 812. 
Just above yon sandy bar, 130. 
Just in the gray of the dawn, as the mists uprose 
from the meadows, 212. 

King Christian stood by the lofty mast, 801. 
King Ring with his queen to the banquet did fare, 

789. 
King Solomon, before his palace gate, 335. 

Labor with what zeal we will, 250. 

Lady, how can it chance — yet this we see, 838. 

Laugh of the mountain ! — lyre of bird and tree ! 

783. 
Leafless are the trees; their purple branches, 

240. 
Let him who will, by force or fraud innate, 831. 
Let nothing disturb thee, 787. 
Like two cathedral towers these stately pines, 

453. 
Listen, my children, and you shall hear, 255. 
Little sweet wine of Jurancon, 832. 
Live I, so live I, 812. 
Lo ! in the painted oriel of the West, 84. 
Longing already to search in and round, 834. 
Lord, what am I, that, with unceasing care, 

782. 
Loud he sang the psalm of David, 27. 
Loud sang the Spanish cavalier, 60. 
Loud the angry wind was wailing, 282. 
Loudly the sailors cheered, 288. 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



873 



Love, love, what wilt thou with this heart of 

mine ? 833. 
Lull me to sleep, ye winds, whose fitful sound, 

411. 
Lutheran, Popish, Calvinistic, all these creeds and 

doctrines three, 812. 

Maiden ! with the meek, brown eyes, 23. 

Man-like is it to fall into sin, S12. 

Meanwhile the stalwart Miles Standish was 

marching steadily northward, 219. 
Month after month passed away, and in Autumn 

the ships of the merchants, 222. 
Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet, 440. 
Much it behoveth, 816. 
My beloved is white and ruddy, 476. 
My soul its secret has, my life too has its mystery, 

833. 
My uudefiled is but one, 477. 

Neglected record of a mind neglected, 470. 

Never shall souls like these, 396. 

Never stoops the soaring vulture, 190. 

Nine sisters, beautiful in form and face, 412. 

No more shall I see, 790. 

Northward over Drontheim, 287. 

No sound of wheels or hoof-beat breaks, 420. 

Not fashioned out of gold, like Hera's throne, 

382. 
Nothing that is shall perish utterly, 708. 
Nothing the greatest artist can conceive, 836. 
Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying 

pen of the stripling, 203. 
Not without fire can any workman mould, 837. 
Now from all King Olaf's farms, 275. 
Nowhere such a devious stream, 426. 
Now the zephyrs diminish the cold, and the year 

being ended, 849. 
Now Time throws off his cloak again, 817. 

O Caesar, we who are about to die, 400. 

O curfew of the setting sun ! O bells of Lynn ! 

372. 
O'er all the hill-tops, 813. 
O faithful, indefatigable tides, 470. 
Of Edenhall, the youthful Lord, 809. 
Of Prometheus, how undaunted, 228. 
Often I think of the beautiful town, 237. 
Oft have I seen at some cathedral door, 374. 
Oft I remember those whom I have known, 

464. 
O gift of God ! O perfect day, 249. 
O gladsome light, 648. 
O hemlock tree ! O hemlock tree ! how faithful 

are thy branches, 810. 
Oh, give me back the days when loose and free, 

837. 
Oh, how blest are ye whose toils are ended, 813. 
Oh let the soul her slumbers break, 775. 
Oh that a Song would sing itself to me, 417. 
Oh, the long and dreary Winter, 193. 
Olaf the King, one summer morn, 278. 
Olger the Dane and Desiderio, 337. 
O little feet ! that such long years, 250. 
O Lord ! who seest, from yon starry height, 

783. 
O lovely river of Tvette, 439. 
Once into a quiet village, 136. 
Once more, once more, Inarime, 437. 
Once on a time, some centuries ago, 350. 
Once the Emperor Charles of Spain, 233. 
Once upon Iceland's solitary strand, 418. 
One Autumn night, in Sudbury town, 251. 
One day, Haroun Al Raschid read, 442. 



One hundred years ago, and something more, 

322. 
One morning, all alone, 544. 
One summer morning, when the sun was hot, 

259. 
On King Olaf's bridal night, 280. 
On St. Bavon's tower, commanding, 439. 
On sunny slope and beechen swell, 13. 
Ou the cross the dying Saviour, 812. 
On the gray sea-sands, 290. 
On the green little isle of Inchkenneth, 442. 
On the Mountains of the Prairie, 142. 
On the shores of Gitche Gumee, 162. 
On the top of a mountain I stand, 60. 
O precious evenings ! all too swiftly sped, 138. 
O River of Yesterday, with current swift, 415. 
O star of morning and of liberty, 376. 
O sweet illusions of Song, 378. 
O sweet, pale face ! O lovely eyes of azure, 383. 
Othere, the old sea-captain, 243. 
O traveller, stay thy weary feet, 469. 
Our God, a Tower of Strength is He, 608. 
Out of childhood into manhood, 149. 
Out of the bosom of the Air, 249. 
O weathercock on the village spire, 451. 
O ye dead Poets, who are living still, 413. 

Padre Francisco, 36. 

Pentecost, day of rejoicing, had come. The 

church of the village, 791. 
Peradventure of old, some bard in Ionian Islands, 

463. 
Pleasant it was, when woods were green, 1. 
Poet ! I come to touch thy lance with mine, 418. 

Quand les astres de Noel, 376. 

Queen Sigrid the Haughty sat proud and aloft, 

274. 

Rabbi Ben Levi, on the Sabbath, read, 265. 

Rio Verde, Rio Verde, 784. 

Rise up, my love, my fair one, 476. 

River ! that in silence windest, 21. 

River, that stealest with such silent pace, 407. 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane, 267. 

Sadly as some old mediaeval knight, 466. 

Safe at anchor in Drontheim bay, 286. 

Saint Augustine ! well hast thou said, 230. 

St. Botolph's Town ! Hither across the plains, 

415. 
San Miguel de la Tumba is a convent vast and 

wide, 786. 
See, the fire is sinking low, 372. 
She dwells by Great Kenhawa's side, 26. 
She is a maid of artless grace, 787. 
Shepherd,! who with thine amorous, sylvan song, 

782. 
Short of stature, large of limb, 280. 
Should any one there in Rome remember Ovid 

the exile, 847. 
Should you ask me, whence these stories, 140. 
Simon Danz has come home again, 435. 
Sing, O Song of Hiawatha, 175. 
Sir Oluf he rideth over the plain, 802. 
Sleep, comrades, sleep and rest, 468. 
Slowly, slowly up the wall, 576. 
Slowly the hour-hand of the clock moves round, 

414. 
So from the bosom of darkness our days come 

roaring and gleaming, 470. 
Soft through the silent air descend the feathery 

snow-flakes, 470. 
Solemnly, mournfully, 85. 



8 7 4 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



Some day, some day, 787. 

Something the heart must have to cherish, 814. 

Somewhat back from the village street, 82. 

So the strong will prevailed, and Alden went on 

his errand, 205. 
Southward with fleet of ice, 131. 
Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, 5. 
Speak ! speak ! thou fearful guest, 15. 
Spring is coming, birds are twittering, forests 

leaf, and smiles the sun, 789. 
Stars of the summer night, 32. 
Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest, 443. 
Still through Egypt's desert places, 465. 
Strike the sails ! King Olaf said, 290. 
Svend Dyring he rideth adown the glade,. 360. 
Sweet as the tender fragrance that survives, 

444. 
Sweet babe ! true portrait of thy father's face, 

818. 
Sweet chimes ! that in the loneliness of night, 

462. 
Sweet faces, that from pictured casements lean, 

417. 
Sweet the memory is to me, 423. 

Taddeo Gaddi built me. I am old, 411. 

Take them, O Death ! and bear away, 139. 

Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 3. 

The Ages come and go, 687. 

The Archbishop, whom God loved in high degree, 

818. 
The battle is fought and won, 357. 
The brooklet came from the mountain, 381. 
The ceaseless rain is falling fast, 420. 
The course of my long life hath reached at last, 

838. 
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary, 20. 
The day is done, and the darkness, 79. 
The day is ending, 80. 

The doors are all wide open; at the gate, 407. 
The guests were loud, the ale was strong, 276. 
The holiest of all holidays are those, 417. 
The lights are out, and gone are all the guests, 

397. 
The night is come, but not too soon, 4. 
The nuns in the cloister, 52. 
The old house by the lindens, 135. 
The pages of thy book I read, 25. 
The panting City cried to the Sea, 464. 
The peasant leaves his plough afield, 785. 
There is a quiet spirit in these woods, 12. 
There is a Reaper, whose name is Death, 4. 
There is no flock, however watched and tended, 

133. 
There sat one day in quiet, 804. 
The rising moon has hid the stars, 19. 
The rocky ledge runs far into the sea, 131. 
There was a time when I was very small, 803. 
The rivers rush into the sea, 804. 
The sea awoke at midnight from its sleep, 409. 
The sea hath its pearls, 812. 
These are the Voices Three, 392. 
These words the poet heard in Paradise, 466. 
The shades of night were falling fast, 23. 
The Slaver in the broad lagoon, 28. 
The summer sun is sinking low, 461. 
The sun is bright, — the air is clear, 20. 
The sun is set ; and in his latest beams, 409. 
The tide rises, the tide falls, 452. 
The twilight is sad and cloudy, 131. 
The wind is rising ; it seizes and shakes, 533. 
The world is full of care, 637. 
The young Endymion sleeps Endymion's sleep, 

409. 



This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling, 70. 
This is the forest primeval. The murmuring 

pines and the hemlocks, 86. 
This is the place. Stand still, my steed, 69. 
This song of mine, 242. 
Thora of Rimol ! hide me ! hide me, 273. 
Thorberg Skafting, master-builder, 284. 
Thou ancient oak ! whose myriad leaves are loud, 

412. 
Thou brooklet, all unknown to song, 829. 
Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain, 84. 
Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they 

grind exceeding small, 812. 
Thou mighty Prince of Church and State, 827. 
Thou Royal River, born of sun and shower, 414. 
Thou that from the heavens art, 813. 
Three Kings came riding from far away, 442. 
Three miles extended around the fields of the 

homestead, on three sides, 788. 
Three Silences there are : the first of speech, 

414. 
Thus for a while he stood, and mused by the 

shore of the ocean, 217. 
Thus sang the Potter at his task, 427. 
Thus, then, much care-worn, 815. 
'Tis late at night, and in the realm of sleep, 

374. 
Tityrus, thou in the shade of a spreading beech- 
tree reclining, 844. 
To gallop off to town post-haste, 832. 
To noble heart Love doth for shelter fly, 840. 
Torrent of light and river of the air, 409. 
Turn, turn, my wheel ! Turn round and round, 

427. 
Tuscan, that wanderest through the realms of 

gloom, 85. 
'T was Pentecost, the Feast of Gladness, 807. 
Two angels, one of Life and one of Death, 234. 
Two good friends had Hiawatha, 156. 

Under a spreading chestnut-tree, 18. 

Under Mount Etna he lies, 248. 

Under the walls of Monterey, 237. 

Until we meet again ! That is the meaning, 462. 

Up soared the lark into the air, 424. 

Viswamitra the Magician, 442. 
Vogelweid the Minnesinger, 81. 

Warm and still is the summer night, 434. 

"Welcome, my old friend, 80. 

Welcome, O Stork ! that dost wing, 843. 

We sat within the farm-house old, 132. 

What an image of peace and rest, 450. 

What is this I read in history, 459. 

What phantom is this that appears, 450. 

What say the Bells of San Bias, 469. 

What should be said of him cannot be said, 839. 

What the Immortals, 388. 

When Alcuin taught the sons of Charlemagne, 

3?9. 
When by night the frogs are croaking, kindle but 

a torch's fire, 813. 
When descends on the Atlantic, 129. 
Whene'er a noble deed is wrought, 242. 
When I compare, 468. 
When I remember them, those friends of mine, 

405. 
When Mazarvan the Magician, 379. 
When the dying flame of day, 11. 
When the hours of Day are numbered, 5. 
When the prime mover of my many sighs, 839. 
When the summer fields are mown, 381. 
When the warm sun, that brings, 9. 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



875 



When winter winds are piercing chill, 10. 
Where are the Poets, unto whom belong, 468. 
Whereunto is money good, 812. 
Whilom Love was like a fire, and warmth and 

comfort it bespoke, 812. 
White swan of cities, slumbering in thy nest, 413. 
Whither, thou turbid wave, 804. 
Who love would seek, 813. 
Why dost thou wildly rush and roar, 466. 
Will ever the dear days come back again, 831. 
Will then, Duperrier, thy sorrow be eternal ? 

827. 
With favoring winds, o'er sunlit seas, 445. 



With snow-white veil and garments as of flame, 

376. 
With what a glory comes and goes the year, 10. 
Witlaf , a king of the Saxons, 135. 
Worn with speed is my good steed, 65. 

Ye sentinels of sleep, 393. 

Yes, the moment shall decide, 393. 

Yes, the Year is growing old, 8. 

Yet not in vain, CTRiver of Yesterday, 415. 

Ye voices, that arose, 14. 

You shall hear how Hiawatha, 153. 

You shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis, 168, 182. 



INDEX OF TITLES 



[The titles of major works and of general divisions are set in small capitals.] 



Abbot Joachim, The, 533. 

Aftermath, 381. 

Afternoon in February, 80. 

Allah, 814. 

Amalfi, 423. 

Ancient Spanish Ballads, 783. 

Angel and the Child, The, 828. 

Annie of Tharaw, 811. 

April Day, An, 9. 

Arrow and the Song, The, 84. 

Arsenal at Springfield, The, 70. 

Artist, The, 836. 

At La Chaudeau, 831. 

Auf Wiedersehen, 462. 

Autumn : " Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by 

the rain," 84. 
Autumn : ' ' With what a glory comes and goes the 

year," 10. 
Autumn Within, 458. 
Avon, To the, 466. 
Azrael, 335. 

Ballad of Carmilhan, The, 317. 

Ballad of the French Fleet, A, 439. 

Ballads and Other Poems, 15. 

Baron of St. Castine, The, 328. 

Barreges, 830. 

Bayard Taylor, 445. 

Beatrice, 835. 

Becalmed, 455. 

Beleaguered City, The, 7. 

Belfry op Bruges and other Poems, The, 67. 

Belfry of Bruges, The, 68. 

Belisarius, 425. 

Bell of Atri, The, 308. 

Bells of Lynn, The, 372. 

Bells of San Bias, The, 469. 

Beowulf's Expedition to Heort, 815. 

Beware, 806. 

Bird and the Ship, The, 804. 

Birds of Killingworth, The, 300. 

Birds op Passage, 227, 378, 419, 434. 

Birds of Passage, 227. 

Black Knight, The, 807. 

Blessed are the Dead, 813. 

Blind Bartimeus, 22 ; 

Blind Girl op Castel-Cuille, The, 819. 

Book of Sonnets, A, 406. 

Boston, 415. 

Boy and the Brook, The, 842. 

Bridge, The, 78. 

Bridge of Cloud, The, 370. 

Broken Oar, The, 418. 

Brook, The, 783. 

Brook and the Wave, The, 380. 

Brooklet, To my, 829. 

Building of the Ship, The, 124. 

Builders, The, 134. 

Burial of the Minnisink, 13. 

Burial of the Poet, The, 453. 



Cadenabbia, 420. 

Canzone, 840. 

Carillon, 67. 

Castle-Builder, The, 379. 

Castle by the Sea, The, 806. 

Castles in Spain, 436. 

Catawba Wine, 242. 

Celestial Pilot, The, 833. 

Challenge, The, 380. 

Chamber over the Gate, The, 446. 

Changed, 380. 

Channing, To William E., 25. 

Charlemagne, 337. 

Charles Sumner, 419. 

Chaucer, 407. 

Chaudeau, At La, 831. 

Child Asleep, The, 818. 

Child, To a, 74. 

Childhood, 803. 

Children, 246. 

Children of the Lord's Supper, The, 791. 

Children's Crusade, The, 459. 

Children's Hour, The, 247. 

Chimes, 462. 

Christmas Bells, 371. 

Christmas Carol, A, 826. 

Christus : A Mystery, 471. 

Chrysaor, 130. 

City and the Sea, The, 464. 

Cobbler of Hagenau, The, 313. 

Come, O Death, so silent flying, 787. 

Consolation, 827. 

Coplas de Manrique, 775. 

Courtship of Miles Standish, The, 201. 

Cross of Snow, The, 418. 

Cumberland, The, 248. 

Curfew, 85. 

Danish Song-Book, To an Old, 80. 

Dante: "Tuscan, that wanderest through the 

realms of gloom," 85. 
Dante : " What should be said of him cannot be 

said," 839. 
Daybreak, 244. 
Day is Done, The, 79. 
Daylight and Moonlight, 235. 
Day of Sunshine, A, 249. 
Dead, The, 804. 

Death of Archbishop Turpin, 818. 
Decoration Day, 468. 
Dedication (Michael Angelo), 708. 
Dedication (The Seaside and the Fireside), 123. 
Delia, 444. 

Descent of the Muses, The, 412. 
Discoverer of the North Cape, The, 243. 
Divina Commedia, 374. 
Divine Tragedy, The, 473. 
Drinking Song, 82. 
Driving Cloud, To the. 79. 
Dutch Picture, A, 435. 



INDEX OF TITLES 



877 



Earlier Poems, 9. 


In the Harbor. 455. 


Elected Knight, The, 802. 


Iron Pen, The, 448. 


Elegiac, 450. 


Italian Scenery, 646. 


Elegiac Verse, 463. 


Italy, To, 836. 


Eliot's Oak, 412. 


It is not always May, 20. 


Elizabeth, 344. 




Emma and Eginhard, 339. 


Jewish Cemetery at Newport, The, 235. 


Emperor's Bird's-Nest, The, 233. 


John Endicott, 611. 


Emperor's Glove, The, 439. 


Judas Maccabeus, 689. 


Enceladus, 248. 


Jugurtha, 448. 


Endymion, 19. 




Epimetheus, or the Poet's Afterthought, 229. 


Kambalu, 311. 


Evangeline : A Tale of Acadie, 86. 


Keats, 409. 


Evening Star, The, 84. 


Keramos, 427. 


Excelsior, 23. 


Killed at the Ford, 373. 


Eyes so tristful, eyes so tristful, 787. 


King Christian, 801. 




King Robert of Sicily, 267. 


Falcon of Ser Federigo, The, 259. 


King Trisanku, 442. 


Fata Morgana, 378. 


King Witlaf 's Drinking-Horn, 135. 


Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz, 245. 




Fire, 837. 


Ladder of St. Augustine, The, 230. 


Fire of Driftwood, The, 132- 


Lady Wentworth, 322. 


Flower-de-Luce, 368. 


Leap of Roushan Beg, The, 440. 


Flower-de-Luce, 368. 


Legend Beautiful, The, 326. 


Flowers, 5. 


Legend of the Cross-Bill, The, 812. 


Footsteps of Angels, 5. 


Legend of Rabbi Ben Levi, The, 265. 


Forsaken, 814. 


L'Envoi (Ultima Thule), 454. 


Four by the Clock, 462. 


L'Envoi (Voices of the Night), 14. 


Four Lakes of Madison, The, 458. 


Lighthouse, The, 131. 


Four Princesses at Wilna, The, 417. 


Light of Stars, The, 4. 


Fragment, A, 468. 


Loss and Gain, 468. 


Fragments, 470. 


Luck of Edenhall, The, 809. 


Friar Lubin, 832. 




Frithiof 's Farewell, 790. 


Mad River, 466. 


Frithiof's Homestead, 788. 


Maiden and Weathercock, 451. 


Frithiof's Temptation, 789. 


Maidenhood, 23. 


From my Arm-Chair, 446. 


Martin Luther, 608. 


From the Cancioneros, 787. 


Masque of Pandora, The, 382. 


Fugitive, The, 840. 


Meeting, The, 379. 




Memories, 464. 


Galaxy, The, 409. 


Mezzo Cammin, 84. 


Gaspar Becerra, 136. 


Michael Angelo, 708. 


Giles Corey of the Salem Farms, 652. 


Midnight Mass for the Dying Year, 8. 


Giotto's Tower, 374. 


Milton, 408. 


Gleam of Sunshine, A, 69. 


Monk of Casal-Maggiore, The, 350. 


Glove of Black in White Hand Bare, 788. 


Monte Cassino, 421. 


Goblet of Life, The, 22. 


Moods, 417. 


God's- Acre, 20. 


Moonlight, 458. 


Golden Legend, The, 535. 


Morituri Salutamus, 400. 


Golden Milestone, The, 240. 


Mother's Ghost, The, 360. 


Good Part that shall not be taken away, The, 26. 


My Books, 466. 


Good Shepherd, The, 782. 


My Cathedral, 453. 


Grave, The, 814. 


My Lost Youth, 237. 




My Secret, 833. 


Hanging op the Crane, The, 397. 




Happiest Land, The, 804. 


Nameless Grave, A, 410. 


Haroun Al Raschid, 442. 


Native Land, The, 783. 


Harvest Moon, The, 414. 


Nature, 412. . 


Haunted Chamber, The, 379. 


Nature of Love, The, 840. 


Haunted Houses, 232. ^ 


Neglected Record of a Mind Neglected, 470. 


Hawthorne, 370. 


New England Tragedies, The, 611. 


Helen of Tyre, 450. 


Night, 453. 


Hemlock Tree, 810. 


Noel, 37G. 


Hermes Trismegistus, 465. 


Norman Baron, The, 73. 


Herons of Elmwood, The, 434. 


Nuremberg, 71. 


Holidays, 417. 




Hymn for my Brother's Ordination, 139. 


Occultation of Orion, The, 77. 


Hymn of the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem, 11. 


O Faithful, Indefatigable Tides, 470. 


Hymn to the Night, 3. 


Old Age, 838. 




Old Bridge at Florence, The, 411. 


Image of God, The, 783. 


Old Clock on the Stairs, The, 82. 


Inscription on the Shanklin Fountain, 469. 


Old St. David's at Radnor, 450. 


In the Churchyard at Cambridge, 232. 


Oliver Basselin, 236. 


In the Churchyard at Tarrytown, 412. 


Open Window, The, 135. 



878 



INDEX OF TITLES 



Ovid in Exile, 847. 

Palingenesis, 369. 

Parker Cleaveland, 413. 

Passages from Frithiof's Saga, 789. 

Paul Revere 's Ride, 255. 

Pegasus in Pound, 136. 

Phantom Ship, The, 230. 

Poems on Slavery, 25. 

Poet and his Songs, The, 454. 

Poetic Aphorisms, 812. 

Poets, The, 413. 

Poet's Calendar, The, 455. 

Ponte Vecchio di Firenze, II, 411. 

Possibilities, 468. 

Prelude (Voices of the Night), 1. 

President Garfield, 466. 

Prometheus, or the Poet's Forethought, 228. 

Psalm of Life, A, 3. 

Quadroon Girl, The, 28. 
Quiet Life, A, 831. 

Rain in Summer, 73. 

Rainy Day, The, 20. 

Reaper and the Flowers, The, 4. 

Remorse, 813. 

Resignation, 133. 

Return of Spring, The, 817. 

Revenge of Raiu-in-the-Face, The, 438. 

Rhyme of Sir Christopher, The, 363 

River Charles, To the, 21. 

River Rhone, To the, 414. 

River Yvette, To the, 439. 

Robert Burns, 448. 

Rondel: "Love, love, what wilt thou with this 

heart of mine ? " 833. 
Ropewalk, The, 239. 

Saga of King Olaf, The, 271. 

St. John, 688. 

St. John's, Cambridge, 416. 

Sandalphon, 246. 

Sand of the Desert in an Hour-Glass, 134. 

San Miguel, the Convent, 786. 

Santa Filomena, 242. 

Santa Teresa's Book-Mark, 787. 

Scanderbeg, 357. 

Sea hath its Pearls, The, 812. 

Seaside and the Fireside, The, 123. 

Seaweed, 129. 

Secret of the Sea, The, 130, 

Sermon of St. Francis, The, 424. 

Seven Sonnets and a Canzone, 836. 

Shadow, A, 410. 

Shakespeare, 408. 

Siege of Kazan, The, 842. 

Sifting of Peter, The, 451. 

Silent Love, 813. 

Singers, The, 138. 

Sir Humphrey Gilbert, 131. 

Skeleton in Armor, The, 15. 

Slave in the Dismal Swamp, The, 26. 

Slave's Dream, The, 25. 

Slave Singing at Midnight, The, 27. 

Sledge-Ride on the Ice, A, 789. 

Sleep, 411. 

Snow-Flakes, 249. 

So from the Bosom of Darkness, 470. 

Soft through the Silent Air, 470. 

Some Day, Some Day, 787. 

Something left Undone, 250. 

Song : And whither goest thou, gentle sigh, 817. 

Song : Hark, hark ! 816. 



Song : If thou art sleeping, maiden, 840. 

Song : She is a maid of artless grace, 787. 

Song : Stay, stay at home, my heart, 443. 

Song of Hiawatha, The. 140. 

Song of the Bell, 806. 

Song of the Silent Land, 808. 

Songo River, 426. 

Sonnets. 

Artist, The, 836. 

Autumn, 84. 

Boston, 415. 

Broken Oar, The, 418. 

Brook, The, 783. 

Burial of the Poet, The, 453. 

Chaucer, 407. 

Chimes, 462. 

Cross of Snow, The, 418. 

Dante, 85. 

Dante, 839. 

Dedication to Michael Angelo, 708. 

Descent of the Muses, The, 412. 

Divina Commedia, 374. 

Eliot's Oak, 412. 

Evening Star, The, 84. 

Fire, 837. 

Four Princesses at Wilna, The, 417. 

Galaxy, The, 409. 

Giotto's Tower, 374. 

Good Shepherd, The, 782. 

Harvest Moon, The, 414. 

Holidays, 417. 

How strange the sculptures that adorn these 
towers, 375. 

I enter, and I see thee in the gloom, 375. 

I lift mine eyes, and all the windows blaze, 
376. 

Image of God, The, 783. 

In the Churchyard at Tarrytown, 412. 

Italy, To, 836. 

Keats, 409. 

Memories, 464. 

Mezzo Cammin, 84. 

Milton, 408. 

Moods, 417. 

Mrs. Kemble's Readings from Shakespeare, On, 
138. 

My Books, 466. 

My Cathedral, 453. 

My Secret, 833. 

Nameless Grave, A, 410. 

Native Land, The, 783. 

Nature, 412. 

Night, 453. 

Oft have I seen at some Cathedral Door, 374. 

Old Age, 838. 

Old Bridge at Florence, The, 411. 

O Star, of Morning and of Liberty ! 376. 

Parker Cleaveland, 413. 

Poets, The, 413. 

Ponte Vecchio di Firenze, II, 411. 

Possibilities, 468. 

President Garfield, 466. 

Quiet Life, A, 831. 

Return of Spring, The, 817. 

River Rhone, To the, 414. 

St. John's, Cambridge, 416. 

Shadow, A, 410. 

Shakespeare, 408. 

Sleep, 411. 

Sound of the Sea, The, 409. 

Summer Day by the Sea, A, 409. 

Three Friends of Mine, 406. 

Three Silences of Molinos, The, 414. 

Tides,, The, 410. 



INDEX OF TITLES 



879 



To-Morrow, 374. 


To the River Rhone, 414. 




To-Morrow (Manafia), 782. 


To the River Yvette, 439. 




Two Rivers, The, 414. 


To the Stork, 843. 




Venice, 413. 


To William E. Channing, 25. 




Victor and Vanquished, 458. 


To Vittoria Colonna, 838. 




Vittoria Colonna, To, 838. 


To Vittoria Colonna, 839. 




Vittoria Colonna, To, 839. 


Translations, 775. 




Wapentake, 418. 


Travels by the Fireside, 420. 




Will ever the dear Days come back again, 831. 


Twilight, 131. 




With Snow-white Veil and Garments as of 


Two Angels, The, 234. 




Flame, 370. 


Two Locks of Hair, The, 809. 




Woodstock Park, 417. 


Two Rivers, The, 414. 




Youth and Age, 837. 






Soul's Complaint against the Body, The, 816. 


Ultima Thule, 445. 




Sound of the Sea, The, 409. 






Spanish Student, The, 29. 


Venice, 413. 




Spirit of Poetry, The, 12. 


Victor and Vanquished, 458. 




Spring, 817. 


Victor Galbraith, 237. 




Statue over the Cathedral Door, The, 811. 


Vida de San Millan, 785. 




Stork, To the, 843. 


Village Blacksmith, The, 18. 




Summer Day by the Sea, A, 409. 


Virgil's First Eclogue, 844. 




Sundown, 461. 


Vittoria Colonna, 437. 




Sunrise on the Hills, 12. 


Vittoria Colonna, To, 838. 




Suspiria, 139. 


Vittoria Colonna, To, 839. 




Symbolum Apostolorum, 533. 


Voices of the Night, 1. 
Vox Populi, 379. 




Tales op a Wayside Inn, 251. 






Tegner's Drapa, 137. 


Walter von der Vogelweid, 81. 




Terrace of the Aigalades, On the, 828. 


Wanderer's Night-Songs, 813. 




Terrestrial Paradise, The, 834. 


Wapentake, 418. 




Three Friends of Mine, 406. 


Warden of the Cinque Ports, The, 231. 




Three Kings, The, 442. 


Warning, The, 28. 




Three Silences of Molinos, The, 414. 


Wave, The, 804. 




Tide Rises, the Tide Falls, The, 452. 


Weariness, 250. 




Tides, The, 410. 


White Czar, The, 444. 




To a Child, 74. 


Whither, 805. 




To an Old Danish Song-Book, 80. 


Will ever the dear Days come back again 


831. 


To Cardinal Richelieu, 827. 


Windmill, The, 452. 




To G. W. G., 445. 


Wind over the Chimney, The, 372. 




To Italy, 836. 


Wine of Jurancon, The, 832. 




To-Morrow, 374. 


Witnesses, The, 27. 




To-Morrow (Manafia), 782. 


Woods in Winter, 10. 




To my Brooklet, 829. 


Woodstock Park, 417. 




Torquemada, 295. 


Wraith in the Mist, A, 442. 




To the Avon, 466. 


Wreck of the Hesperus, The, 17. 




To the Driving Cloud, 79. 






To the River Charles, 21. 


Youth and Age, 837. 





ElectrotyPed and printed oy H. O. Houghton &* Co. 
Cambridge, Mass., U.S. A. 



i\i , 






■ME 







LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



018 597 684 1 



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